


The Cruiseline Job

by ardentaislinn, SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Better Together: A FitzSimmons Partnered Exchange, Con Artist AU, Con Artists, Cruise Ships, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentaislinn/pseuds/ardentaislinn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one suspects a couple on their honeymoon. A Fitzsimmons Con Artist AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cruiseline Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookishandbossy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/gifts).



> For bookishandbossy and leopoldfitzsimmons for #FSBetterTogether Partnered Exchange on Tumblr! Thanks for the great prompt; we had a blast writing for you both!
> 
> Thanks to lavendergaia for beta help!

Jemma’s hand played lightly across the shoulder of the stout older gentleman in front of her. George? Geoff? Not that it mattered. Her mind had one focus: the diamond necklace currently being displayed on the stage. The man holding the black velvet cushion on which it rested moved slightly, and the huge stones caught the light with a brilliant sparkle.

Her breath caught as a fierce want swept through her.

“Darling, isn’t it beautiful?” she breathed into his ear, leaning forward to make sure her soft exhalation of air brushed his ear.

The man (Gerald?) gave her an adoring smile over his shoulder. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Jemma laughed lightly. “Oh, you,” she murmured playfully, swatting his arm lightly and determinedly not rolling her eyes. His hand crept around her waist and Jemma shuddered against her will. Greg? clearly thought her shiver was for a different reason, as his hand tightened around her.

The announcer on stage had just finished his spiel about the necklace and was about to open the bidding.

“Do you think I might look even lovelier with that around my neck?” Jemma asked impishly.

The man--Graham?--sighed, and Jemma’s stomach clenched at the obvious regret in the sound.

“I wish I could, dear, but it’s an awful lot of money for a silly trinket.”

Jemma’s heart sank. Gilbert (Gilbert was definitely his name!) was apparently a miser. Not something she had known a few days ago when she had begun her ruse.

Distracted from her prize, even as it glinted temptingly on the stage, Jemma considered the most graceful way to extricate herself from the situation.

She caught sight of the distinctive cut of a tailored Armani suit and her mind jumped a few steps ahead.

“Darling, I think I just saw a friend of mine. Excuse me for a moment.”

She drifted away from Gilbert without waiting for his answer and manoeuvred through the crowd. Her previous mark was already forgotten as she set her sights on a new target. He raised his hand to bid on the necklace, a bored expression heavy on his surprisingly young face. Jemma’s heart leapt.

He was perfect.

She sidled up beside him, brushing her hair back to expose the shoulder closest to him in a way she knew to be distracting. The young man’s eyes flicked to hers, but his expression didn’t change. He looked back at the stage and held up his hand again.

“It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it?” Her voice was sure and smooth, tried and true. He spared her another glance and shrugged.

“Suppose.”

Jemma could feel a little crease forming between her brows as he concentrated all his attention on the stage, and she took a calming breath. “Whoever the woman is that you’re bidding on that necklace for, she must be quite something.”

“There’s no woman,” he said distractedly. The bidding seemed to be down to him and two other parties: an elderly couple across the ballroom, and a portly man several feet away. No woman, hmm? Jemma filed that bit of knowledge away.

“My mistake.”

Silence settled between the two, and Jemma contented herself with watching him compete with the other bidders. He was focused and intense, and she wondered for the first time what he did for a living to be able to afford this kind of prize. She’d spent time with her fair share of men with family money they’d done little to earn, and none had had this kind of focus.

The bid continued to escalate, and Jemma found herself enthralled as she watched him. After a moment, he turned his head to look at her appraisingly.

“A girl like you must have men falling all over themselves to buy her things like that.”

Jemma demurred, shaking her head in a way she knew looked bashful. “Who, me?”

He kept his eyes on her as he raised his hand to bid once more. The price was getting obscenely high. “You’re telling me you came here alone?”

She nodded. He raised his arm again. Then he looked thoughtful, biting his lip.

“Maybe you and I could…”

“Yes?”

He offered her a lopsided smile. “It’d be a shame for a necklace like that to go unworn.”

Jemma held her breath and his gaze, wide-eyed.

“$18,000 from the couple at table 11. Do I hear $18,500?”

Breaking eye contact, she looked over to see the portly gentleman sit back down at his table, shaking his head. A thrill jolted through her as she realized that the young man need only outbid the older couple for the necklace to be hers. He was still watching her, his right hand hovering at waist-height as if he were too distracted by her to remember to bid.

“Do I hear $18,500?”

She widened her eyes at him, imploring him to raise his hand.

“$18,000, going once.”

She jerked her head toward the stage, teeth clenched. He just stood there, staring into her eyes. His hand seemed to inch upward slowly, far too slowly.

“$18,000, going twice.”

“Well?” Jemma tapped her foot impatiently.

All in the space of a second, he slipped both hands into his pocket, shrugged, and smirked at her.

“Sold for $18,000!”

Jemma gaped at the man, not caring how unladylike she looked at the moment. He just shrugged again.

“Sorry. Can’t be sure they were even real diamonds, anyway.” Then he turned and started to walk away.

Jemma grabbed his arm, outrage rushing through her.

“What the hell was that?”

He turned, looking at her with unmistakable contempt. “You didn’t really think I’d fall for that act, did you?”

Her head snapped back. “ _What?_ ”

“C’mon. You are quite clearly a con artist.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, studying his face. “Takes one to know one,” she said on a punt, sounding more sure than she felt.

The man raised his brow. “True,” was all he said in reply.

“What are you even doing here?”

“Same as you, I imagine. Lots of wealthy marks here.”

Jemma stared at him, intrigued despite herself. She’d never actually met another person like her. Despite his obvious disdain for her, he seemed in no hurry to leave.

“So, why the act with me? Why bid on the necklace at all?”

He shrugged. “I like to drive up the price so they have to pay more. And with you...I figured it couldn’t hurt to teach you a bit of a lesson.” His smile was so natural and charming that Jemma immediately began to forgive him - until she realised what was happening and quickly jumped on her guard.

“And what lesson is that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Don’t try to con a con. It never goes well. Your act might work on those suckers out there, but they won’t work on a guy like me.”

“I sense judgement in your tone. That’s a bit hypocritical.”

“So’s getting all worked up when I do the same thing you’ve been doing all night. At least I’m not getting some poor man’s hopes up by letting him believe I’ll go home with him.” She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just did her best to give him a haughty glare. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned and strode toward the bar, leaving her glued to the spot.

Jemma crossed her arms, for the moment not caring if she looked classy and appealing. The nerve of that man. He was infuriating. So what if men found her attractive and she used that to makes them want to give her things. It was their fault for being so ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Still fuming, she turned and scanned the ballroom for Gilbert ( _or was it Gregory?)_ . When she finally spotted him, he was sitting at a table with a bird-like middle-aged woman, her hand creeping up his arm. _Damn_. Jemma’s dalliance with the young man seemed to have even ruined her earlier hard work.

With a sigh, Jemma acknowledged to herself that it might be time to leave. As the auctioneer announced the final item of the night, she slipped through the crowd toward the exit.

“...a romantic getaway for two. No honeymoon or second honeymoon is complete without a voyage on the _Rose of the Seven Seas_.” The last item of the night was a cruise? How quaint. “You and your bride or groom will enjoy a vast private stateroom, access to a private deck, and all the luxury money can buy.”

Jemma fished through her clutch for her coat check slip, half-listening to the auctioneer.

“The best part of all? This is no ordinary cruise ship. Setting sail just once a year, the _Rose of the Seven Seas_ was voted by _Billionaire Monthly_ as a top vacation destination for wealthy couples. Short of your own private island, there is no better place to celebrate your love than this exclusive cruise, which currently has a waiting list of twelve years. But not for those of you here tonight. The winner of this final item will set sail on the _Rose of the Seven Seas_ just ten short days from now.”

With an _a-ha!_ , Jemma pulled out the missing slip to the oohs and aahs of the event’s guests. She turned to look at the stage, biting her lip as everything the auctioneer had just said began to set in. _Billionaire Monthly_ , eh?

Jemma thought for a moment as the auctioneer detailed the amenities the winner would enjoy. A cruise ship just brimming with wealthy people so in love that they couldn’t think straight. It would be a playground for someone like her.

The bidding began, climbing slower than Jemma would have guessed-- but then, it was the last item of the evening. Perhaps everyone had blown their money earlier in the night.

She replaced the coat check slip in her bag and took a few steps further into the room. It would be perfect… but though the bidding was still relatively low, there was no way she could afford it.

Unless…

An idea forming in her head, Jemma quickly scanned the bar where she’d last seen him. There he was-- sipping a drink and leaning back against the bar, the picture of casual boredom. How could he be so nonchalant in the face of an opportunity like this?

Jemma zig-zagged through the crowd to approach him, keeping part of her attention on the climbing bids. She would have to be quick.

“Hey.”

“You again?”

She ignored him and got to the point. “I think we should bid on the cruise.”

He raised his eyebrows, finishing his Scotch and setting it behind him on the bartop. “There’s a ‘we’?” She rolled her eyes.

“There could be. Not like _that_ , of course-- a business partnership. I can’t afford it alone, and in any case, it’s a couples’ cruise. I couldn’t go alone, either.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Like you said. Lots of wealthy marks.”

For a moment, it looked like he was considering her proposition. Then he shook his head. “No thanks. I work best alone.” He pushed himself off the bar and began to walk away.

“Wait!” She grabbed his elbow, keeping him in place. “How do you know?”

“That I work best alone?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody’s as good as I am.”

Jemma rolled her eyes at that. “Well, what if together, we were twice as good?”

He raised one eyebrow, looking doubtful, but something in his eyes gave her confidence. She turned toward the stage and raised her hand, placing a bid. His eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing? You said yourself you can’t afford that alone.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she said, doing her best to exude disinterest. It was a crucial part of the act. Make the man think she didn’t care, and suddenly he would. It was basic human psychology, really.

“What, take out a loan?” He chuckled, and she raised her hand again, upping her bid.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t struggle to pay it back, after a week on this ship.” She tried to keep the icy nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her she _really_ could not afford what she was bidding at bay.

“So why would you want to split that take with me, anyway?”

She glanced back at him. “I wouldn’t be splitting it. We’d be walking away with double. There’s a difference.” She trained her eyes back on the stage. She could tell his resolve was slipping. It was, after all, too good of a proposal to pass up.

“Do I hear another bid?”

He stepped up to stand beside her, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Going once...”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.

“Going twice…”

He sighed, eyes cast toward the ceiling, then raised his hand. Jemma felt relief course through her veins and couldn’t help but grin at him. Perhaps this was the beginning of a beautiful, if temporary, partnership.

 

\----

 

“Your bags, madame?”

Jemma turned in surprise at the voice, shutting the door to her cab behind her. A mustached man stood at the curb in a perfectly crisp bellhop uniform and held out a hand, nodding toward her suitcase. She shook her head, smiling politely.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I can get them.”

“Nonsense, madame.” He stood there, a serene, expectant look on his face, until she finally shrugged and passed him the handle to her rollerbag. He took her flowered duffel with his other hand, shouldering it, and gesturing for her to lead the way down the path that led to the port station.

After a few dozen feet, they approached another smiling man in the same uniform standing beside the path under an awning. “Miss, would you like a grapefruit-infused sparkling water?” Jemma took the glass he held out to her, decked out with a little umbrella and an exotic-looking flower, and took a sip, nodding her thanks. _So this is what it’s like to be exorbitantly wealthy._

Once inside the station, the first man took care of checking her bags and pointed her in the direction of Guest Relations, where she would check in.

“Ms. Simmons,” said the woman behind the desk, peering at Jemma’s ID. “Will… Mr. Simmons be joining us today?”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “There is no Mr. Simmons.” The desk clerk raised her eyebrows in response, and it took Jemma a minute before she realized her mistake. She laughed a bit too loud. “Because I decided not to take his name. Girl power, and all that.” She smiled what she hoped was an appropriate smile for someone of her pretend station in life. “Mr. Fitz will be here any minute.” After a beat, she added for good measure: “He just had to pop into the club for a quick round of golf. But he’ll be here.”

The clerk stared for a moment before nodding and typing Jemma’s information into the computer. A pair of boarding passes printed out-- one for Jemma, one for Fitz-- and she handed those over with a smile. “Bon voyage.”

 _Now, to wait_. She wandered outside so that she could see the water and found an intricate, wrought-iron bench to sit on. She checked her watch. _Where_ was _the old ball and chain?_

 

\----

 

Fitz was running woefully, woefully late. He’d cursed his luck when his alarm clock hadn’t gone off ( _why do cruise ships have to leave so bloody early in the morning, anyway?_ ). He’d been mad at himself when he couldn’t find his passport ( _who puts their passport in their sock drawer?_ ). Now, he was angry at someone else: the cab driver who was creeping along as the seconds ticked by and the fare got higher.

“Any day now,” Fitz muttered.

“You say something, man?”

“Ah, no. Just wondering if we might have taken a wrong turn?”

The cabbie didn’t say anything, just glared into the rearview mirror.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Fitz caught a glimpse of the ocean over the horizon. As they wound down a long hill, it came more and more into view, along with the ship-- an enormous, ornate cruise ship with “ _Rose of the Seven Seas”_ emblazoned on the side in script. He felt a flutter of excitement in his stomach-- after all, he’d never been on a cruise before-- but tried to tamp it down. This was business.

The cab parked in front of a lavish brick building and Fitz scrambled out of it, tapping his foot impatiently for the driver to unlatch the trunk. He hefted his bags out of it before the driver was even out of the front seat, tossed him some cash, and speedwalked down the pathway to the building, barely glancing at a uniformed man he assumed to be a lost passenger.

“Sir, would you like--”

“No thanks!”

Fitz reached the building and scanned the room for Jemma, or at least a sign to direct him where to go. He saw neither.

After a moment of feeling certain he was going to get left behind on shore, he spotted her, pacing in front of the doorway that led to the port itself. She must have seen him, too, because she re-entered the building at a fast clip.

“What on _earth_ possessed you to be nearly an _hour_ late? Honestly, it’s as if you _want_ to be left behind!”

Fitz bristled at her tone-- he didn’t like to be patronized, and never mind the fact that he’d been worried about just that. He scowled at her. “They weren’t going to _leave me behind_. Do you know how much people p-- how much _we paid_ for this trip?”

Jemma rolled her eyes at him. “Never mind that. There, that man can take your suitcases. I already have both of our boarding passes. Come _on!_ ” Fitz handed his bags to the man she indicated, who made sympathetic eye contact with him, as if to say _sorry you’re married to this shrew of a woman_. Fitz groaned internally. This could be the longest vacation of his life.

 

\---

 

“Here you are-- 8C.” Another man in a starched, pressed uniform-- _didn’t that get uncomfortable?_ , Fitz wondered-- slid their key in the lock and swung open the door to their stateroom. Jemma entered first, murmuring a soft _wow_ , and once Fitz crossed the threshold he could see why.

The room was larger than his apartment. A king-sized bed sat piled high with pillows in the middle of the room, and all the furniture looked more expensive than anything Fitz owned. As Jemma poked around their kitchenette, he crossed to the balcony door and slid it open. The salt scent of the ocean and the gentle rush of waves against the dock relaxed him, making it momentarily easy to forget that this wasn’t just a vacation with a beautiful woman.

He glanced back into the room to see Jemma, one hand on her hip and eyebrows raised at him. _A beautiful, annoying woman_.

She cleared her throat, gesturing to the man in the uniform with just her eyes.

“Oh!” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a tip for the man, who took it with a nod of thanks and exited the room. “This trip better be lucrative,” he grumbled. “Do you know how much tipping you have to do on a cruise?”

Jemma rolled her eyes at him again. Was that going to be her MO this trip?

“You’ll make it back and then some,” she said, toeing off her shoes and sitting down on the end of the bed, testing its softness. “Remember, the wealthy aren’t cheapskates. We have to blend in.”

“‘Course they are. How do you think they stay so wealthy?” Fitz slid the balcony door shut with a soft click. “So, what now?”

 

\---

 

“The casino is this way.” Jemma pointed to a sign hanging on the wall clearly marking its location.

“Yes, but the buffet is _this_ way.”

Jemma pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head so that she could glare at him. “I thought you wanted to--” Pausing, she lowered her voice. “I thought you wanted to make sure you made back all your tip money this week.”

“I do,” he turned to her and said in a voice like he was speaking to a child. “I also want to eat. I’m famished.”

She sighed, letting her glasses fall back down to cover her eyes. “Fine. We’ll discuss our plan of action while we eat. A working lunch.”

“Do you _ever_ loosen up?” Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed down the corridor toward the buffet. Jemma scoffed, arms crossed, before following him. As if he knew the first thing about her.

 

\--

 

“You said you knew how to count cards, didn’t you?”

“Mmhmm.” Jemma was surprised she could understand him with his mouth full of pastry. He tore another piece of scone and she watched in disgust as he crammed that into his mouth as well. _Incorrigible._

“Good. We can start there.” She jotted “Casino-- Cards” down in the small notebook she’d pulled from her bag as he watched, wiping his mouth with a napkin. _At least he cleans up after himself_.

“You know, thanks for the itinerary, Jemma, but I’ve got this under control. I’m just going to do what I always do. Only on a boat.” He took a long slurp of his chocolate milkshake, and she wrinkled her nose at the sound.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

He leaned back in his chair, tipping it on its back two legs like a kid and grinning. “Would you like to buy an airplane?”

Jemma furrowed her brow. “What? No, why would I--”

“No, no.” He let the chair fall back into place. “Not you. Them.” He gestured at the guests around them relaxing at tables in the extravagant ballroom. “That’s what I do. I sell planes, nice ones. Tell ‘em they belong to a deposed dictator who needs to make some quick cash. The element of danger helps with a lot of these jerks.”

Jemma reached over to pluck a roasted potato from his plate, popping it in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “So where do you find these planes?” she asked after swallowing.

He rolled his eyes at her, and she wondered if she looked quite so smug when she did it to him. “There _are no planes_. I show them pictures of planes, sure. I’ve got all the specs. I’m a pilot who can smuggle the thing into the country, but of course, only for a fee.”

“Then you walk with the money and they’re left waiting for a plane that never arrives.”

“Precisely, my dear Watson.”

Jemma barked out a laugh. “I more picture you as Watson, but… that’s actually quite brilliant.”

Fitz just smiled at her proudly.

“How many non-planes have you sold?”

“Well…” he began, averting his gaze to his nearly-empty plate. “It’s kind of a work in progress…”

“Fitz?”

“Just the one. But I made quite a lot of money off it,” he rushed to add.

One plane? He’d sold one plane, and _that_ was his big con? Jemma had at least scored a handful of jewelry pieces, a painting or two, even a vacation rental once off her wealthy, lonely marks. She wondered if she’d agreed to collaborate with the wrong con artist. No matter, though-- they were already on the ship, and it was time to get started.

“Never mind that,” she said, closing her notebook and sliding it back in her purse. “This will just have to be the week you hit the big time, so to speak.”

“The big time,” he grumbled. “What did _you_ have in mind, anyway?”

“Well, actually--”

“Why hello! Mr. and Mrs. Fitz, isn’t it?” An older man ambled to their table, leaning on his cane the whole way.

“What? No, we’re not a--” Jemma began, but Fitz cut her off.

“We’re not Mr. and Mrs. Fitz because I couldn’t convince her to take my name. So it’s actually Mr. Fitz and Ms. Simons--”

“Simmons!”

“Right, that’s what I said. Ms. Simmons.” Fitz smiled tightly up at the man, and Jemma nodded quickly. The man peered down at him-- was he wearing a _monocle_?-- for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“Your generation certainly is... unique.” He offered his hand to shake, first to Fitz, then to Jemma. “My name is Robert Gonzales, the Cruise Director on the _Rose of the Seven Seas_. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Jemma said, recovering her wits. “But how did you know who we were?”

“Oh, I make it my business to know everything about each and every passenger on the _Rose_. The better to provide a superior cruising experience.”

Fitz coughed. “Everything?”

Gonzales stared down at him, stonefaced, for a moment too long, then chuckled. “Well, perhaps not _everything_ , Mr. Fitz. We place great value on our guests’ privacy. But I did take the liberty of perusing the application you completed at the silent auction. You’re both extremely lucky individuals, to have won something so many people would covet. An extremely lucky _couple_ , I should say.”

Jemma smiled up at him politely. “Right you are.”

“The luckiest,” Fitz added.

“Do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you two lovebirds while you’re a guest on my ship,” Gonzales said. “I aim to please.”

“We will,” Fitz said. Jemma nodded, unsure of her voice. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about Cruise Director Gonzales that made her feel so unnerved, but she couldn't say she liked him. With a tap of his cane on the ground, he bowed at them-- _bowed? What an odd man_ \-- and turned and left. Jemma exhaled, sagging into her chair with relief.

“What. The _hell_. Was _that_?”

Taken aback, she raised her eyebrows at Fitz, who looked confounded. “What?”

“Oh no, Mr. Cruise Director,” he began, in a high-pitched, poor approximation of her accent. “We’re not a couple. We’re just a pair of con artists here to steal from your valued customers.”

She glared at him, sitting up straighter and crossing her arms in front of her on the table. “That’s _not_ what I sound like.”

“It is a little.”

“And besides, what about you? _Ms. Simons_? _Simons_? Who on earth is _Ms. Simons_?”

The amused look on his face turned to indignance, and it was his turn to lean forward, pointing at her with one hand with his other elbow on the table. “That’s an easy mistake to make!”

“So sorry that I go by both of my names and not just the one--”

“--there’s nothing wrong with me going by my last name--”

“--at least I remembered--”

“--how was I supposed to know I’d be _interrogated_ \--”

“--ugh, Fitz! Just stop.” He did, sitting back in his chair and gripping both arms of it tightly. She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Look, obviously we didn’t think this through quite as much as we perhaps should have.” He looked like he wanted to interrupt, so she continued quickly. “We couldn’t have known someone would know who we were, but now we do.”

“Yeah,” Fitz grumbled. “Someone who _makes it his business to know_ ,” he continued in what Jemma could only assume was supposed to be Gonzales’ low voice. Perhaps they could work on his impersonations over the course of the week.

“Precisely. But the solution is simple, isn’t it?”

“It is?”

“Of course. We just need to prepare.”

He eyed her uneasily. “Prepare? How?”

She tilted her head, a grin on her face that she knew most likely looked smug. “Fortunately for you, I excel at preparation.”

 

\---

 

“We have to do it in the hot tub?” As soon as the words had left Fitz’s mouth, he wanted to bite them back in, but Jemma either didn’t notice the innuendo or was mature enough to ignore it. He stood at their stateroom’s balcony door, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt as he peered outside.

The balcony was less a balcony and more a vast private deck, complete with a pair of comfortable-looking lounge chairs, a fully-stocked wet bar, and yes, a hot tub.

Jemma breezed past him from inside the room in a gauzy, floral cover-up. He watched as she slid off her sandals and tucked them beneath one of the chairs, then tried deliberately _not_ to watch as she pulled off the flowery dress to reveal the black bikini she wore underneath. He couldn’t exactly ignore her, though, nor the fact that she looked very, very nice in said bikini. How could he? It was an empirical fact.

“Well, _you_ don’t have to get in, Fitz, but I’m certainly not going to waste the opportunity to relax in my own private hot tub,” she said, climbing over the wall of the tub to perch on the edge and dip her feet in. He hesitated, but in the end, approached the tub and pulled off his t-shirt, quickly clambering in until he was submerged to his shoulders.

Once Jemma apparently decided the temperature was to her liking, she slid into the water, sitting on the bench perpendicular to his own. He could feel their knees just brush under the surface, and wondered why a hot tub designed for two wealthy people had to be so cramped.

“So,” she said, watching him with excitement in her eyes. “We should have gone over these things before we even left shore, but I suppose there’s no time like the present!”

She seemed awfully chipper. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were the kid in school who asked for extra homework, weren’t you?” She rolled her eyes-- something he was becoming accustomed to-- but he could see she was blushing just a bit, so he knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

“What we need to do is get to know one another. We’ll be in the best position if we don’t have to worry about pretending to be a couple. It needs to feel natural.”

“Natural. Right.”

“Oh, and we should also prepare a relationship backstory.” Jemma craned her neck to look back toward the stateroom. “Perhaps I should get my notebook.”

He chuckled at the look of concern on her face. “I think we can manage to remember.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Steel trap.” She watched his face for a long moment before smiling and nodding.

“You’re probably right. So. How did we meet?”

 

\---

 

Two and a half hours later, they’d determined that they had met at a political event-- a fundraiser for the Rising Tide, an organization devoted to combating climate change-- and had dated for just over a year prior to getting engaged. They’d decided that he had proposed on a weekend trip to Paris-- where he’d flown them in his private jet, of course-- and that their wedding had been a small affair, in a private garden near Jemma’s parents’ estate in England.

By the time they’d started discussing the names of their future children, Fitz was feeling tired and pruny.

“Can we break for dinner?” he said around a yawn. “Or maybe a nap?”

“Let me guess. You’re famished?” She shot him a look, but reached behind her to hoist herself up out of the hot tub anyway. Instinctively, his gaze drifted down her body, as if trying to take her all in at once. He tipped his head back against the cushioned hot tub wall as she leaned over to pick up her sandals and cover-up and walked back into the room without bothering to put it on. _We couldn’t have partnered up on a trip to somewhere colder?_

 

\----

 

Dinner went relatively smoothly. Instead of dressing to the nines for their scheduled seating in the opulent dining area, Jemma and Fitz opted to order room service and watch a movie in their stateroom.

As the credits rolled on the original _Thomas Crown Affair_ , Fitz could feel his eyelids drooping. He was slumped in the oversized armchair beside the armoire, a drink from the minibar loosely clutched in one hand. He let his head fall back against the chair, lolling it to the side to take in Jemma, who was sprawled out on the bed.

She looked as tired as he was, clutching one of the many decorative pillows to her chest as she lay there, eyes on the flatscreen TV. A yawn came on suddenly, her mouth gaping wide and eyes shut tight. Sleepily, Fitz observed that the little noise she made as she yawned was cute, but then shook his head, downed the last of his drink and stood up.

“I think it might be time for bed,” he said, setting his tumbler down on the bar. She blinked up at him blearily, holding the pillow tighter against her chest, but then nodded.

Fitz rummaged through his bag for his toiletry case, shutting himself in the bathroom to brush his teeth. He eyed himself in the mirror as he did so. _A day ago, you were on dry land,_  he thought. _A couple of weeks ago, you didn’t know this girl you’re about to sleep next to_. She was going to let him sleep next to her, wasn’t she? He thought perhaps the gentlemanly thing to do would be to let her have the bed and take the floor for himself, but… he didn’t want to. Besides, she wasn’t a lady, let alone his lady. She was a con, and his business partner. They were equals.

Wiping his mouth, he flicked off the bathroom light and opened the door to the room. Jemma had apparently changed into her night clothes, and was sitting on the bed facing the bathroom, drawing circles on the carpet with her toes. She looked up when he emerged. “All yours,” he said, gesturing. She smiled, nodded, and disappeared behind the door as he crossed into the room.

Fitz was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t want him to sleep beside her after all, but he didn’t see another solid option-- the armchair was comfortable but not for sleeping, and there was no ottoman or sofa to stretch out on. _Why are you worried? This room is just as much yours as it is hers_. With that thought, he strode to the other side of the large bed and flipped back the covers, climbing underneath.

Moments later, Jemma came out of the bathroom, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He had the side of his face pressed against the pillow, one hand slipped beneath it, and he watched her walk into the room.

“Oh, you’re already--”

“Yeah, I just thought we might as well--”

“Share the bed. Of course.” She offered him a tight smile, clutching one hand in the other. He let his eyes drift away from her face. She was wearing a slightly oversized grey t-shirt with a pocket on the chest and a pair of pink pajama shorts printed with what looked to be turquoise seahorses. He chuckled.

“Get those shorts for the boat?” he joked.

Jemma frowned. “Yes.”

He leaned his head up from the pillow. “Oh-- I was just-- they’re sorta-- they’re cute,” he stammered, brows raised.

She smiled, looking down and tucking a stray piece of hair behind one ear. “Thanks?” Looking up again, she glanced around the room, as if she wasn’t sure what came next. Her eyes landed on the bed, and still watching her, he noticed her nod almost imperceptibly. She flicked the light switch on the wall behind her and suddenly the room was dim, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the balcony doors.

“Bedtime,” she said unnecessarily. She shuffled to the bed and climbed in beneath the covers, settling in along the very edge of her side. There was a solid three feet of space between them, and yet he felt as if he should move even further away to give her proper space. Scooting back several inches, he stopped when he felt the bed end and turned onto his back.

“Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she answered, shifting onto her back as well. After a moment, she continued. “Tonight was a nice break. Tomorrow, we’ll work out a plan.”

“Yep.” He shut his eyes, both hands resting on his chest. He could feel the solidness of the edge of the mattress digging into his thigh, but he felt too awkward to move closer to the center of the bed. And her. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeated. He didn’t answer this time. She was already taking away most of the comfort of having a king-sized bed. He wasn’t about to let her take away part of his time for sleep, too.

 

\---

 

When Jemma woke up in the morning, she felt incredibly well-rested and content. She stretched, arching her feet and curling her toes and yawning hugely with her palms flat against the soft, clearly-high-thread-count sheets. Just before she opened her eyes, she felt her left pinky make contact with something warm and solid, and snatched her hand back, jolting fully awake.

Right. She wasn’t alone.

She shifted carefully onto her left side to face Fitz, who seemed to still be fast asleep on his back. He looked peaceful, and unlike his wakeful hours, there was no trace of a smirk or raised eyebrow on his face. He didn’t irritate her this way.

Just as she had begun to think he even looked kind of cute as he slept, he rolled over onto his side, face just a few inches away from hers, and let out a loud snore. Jemma wrinkled her nose. _Nope_. _Still irritating_.

  


\---

  


By the time Fitz awoke, Jemma had already had a busy morning. First, she’d gone for a brisk run on the treadmill in the ship’s well-equipped gym, which had big picture windows that looked out over the ocean. Then, she had a stroll along the open-air deck and a light breakfast in one of the ship’s many cafes. As she was leaving to return to the room, she deliberated on grabbing breakfast to-go for Fitz, in the end picking up an everything bagel and a container of cream cheese as she walked out the door. After all, it wasn’t costing her anything.

It wasn’t until she emerged from a nice, hot shower that she heard him moving around in the room, finally awake.

“Good, you’re out,” he said as she stepped into the room, wrapped in a fluffy white robe.

“Good, you’re up,” she mimicked him. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

He scowled at her from the table, where he sat, spreading cream cheese on the bagel she’d brought him. “It’s only 11.”

“Oh, _only_. You’re welcome for the bagel, by the way.” He looked up at her, eyes widening as he took in her appearance. She suddenly felt self-conscious. Maybe she should have put on clothes in the bathroom, but the robes provided by the ship just looked so comfortable.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a big bite.

She shook her head to clear any discomfort from her mind, perching on the upholstered bench that sat at the foot of the bed. “So, what’s today’s plan?”

“Plan?” His mouth was full, a few crumbs spilling out as he spoke. _How appetizing._

“For us. I mean, our plan, for this trip. What are we doing here?”

“Oh, right.” He swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Right. So, I’m going to sell some planes. Maybe a fleet of ‘em. And you can, uh, do whatever it is you do.” She rolled her eyes.

“ _What I do_ is capitalize on the propensity of wealthy men to feel a certain degree of attraction to me.”

He snorted. “Isn’t that one step away from prostitution?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes at him. What an utter jackass. “It’s not at all similar, actually. While it’s none of your business, I never even go so far as to kiss my marks. I find it’s unnecessary.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, in a tone she knew was childish but she couldn’t help it. He was really making her angry. “Unlike you, I’m actually good at what I do.”

That was apparently enough for Fitz, who pushed his chair back roughly and stood up. He crumpled the rest of his bagel up in a napkin and threw it in the trash, muttering to himself. Jemma sighed. He was being a right arse, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have to work together and share a room for the rest of the week. Besides, she managed to keep her cool with rich older men all the time, and those kinds of men were most certainly not always the kindest or most gentlemanly. Why was she letting herself get riled up by this man who had so much less to offer her?

She tugged her robe tighter against her. “Look, Fitz, can we just focus here? I’d like us to work together on this. That’s the point of all this, isn’t it?” He stood with his arms crossed, staring out at the ocean through the glass balcony doors. Then he sighed and turned to face her.

“Yeah. Sorry I accused you of prostitution,” he muttered.

She watched his face for a moment before chuckling. “Sorry I implied that you’re bad at what you do. Truce?” His eyes flicked up at her, head still bowed, and nodded. “Good. So, how can we combine our talents? My ability to use rich men’s desires against them and your technical expertise?”

He was silent for a moment, then ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t know. It’s too hard to think on an empty stomach.”

She gawped at him. “You’re the one who threw away most of a perfectly good bagel!” He at least had the good sense to look sheepish.

“I know. Sorry. Want to get dressed, and then we can go get some fresh air and something to eat?”

She relented, nodding, but only because she _did_ want to take full advantage of being on such a lovely cruise ship. To neglect the beautiful weather and the crisp ocean air would be criminal.

  


\---

  


Forty-five minutes later, Jemma and Fitz were strolling along the outer deck of the ship. He was taking large bites of a chicken sausage on ciabatta roll (“What ever happened to an old fashioned American hot dog?” he’d grumbled), and she was sipping a cold-pressed juice.

“So we just have to find the right mark,” he explained around a mouthful of sausage. Sustenance clearly had impacted his ability to think, because he had come up with an idea almost the moment he had food in his hand.

“And then we work together,” she continued. “I use my considerable talents to get him primed, and then--”

“--and then I swoop in and seal the deal, so to speak.”

She nodded, feeling a little jolt of excitement as she sipped her juice. It was always thrilling to put a new plan into action. “We’ll have to think bigger than you usually do, though.”

He stopped walking, sausage held in mid-air. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” She nudged him with her arm to keep walking, and he did.

“Nothing! Just that like you said-- we want this week to be as lucrative as possible. How much can one of your small planes possibly go for?”

“More than you think!” He popped the last bite of chicken sausage into his mouth and chewed, thankfully swallowing before continuing to speak. “But okay. I sort of see your point. Selling one would only just cover the cost of the ticket.”

She nodded. Of course he did. It was a perfectly valid point.

“We could run the con on several different passengers?” he suggested.

“We could, but then we run the risk of word getting around. What if they compare notes? There aren’t _that_ many passengers on the ship.”

“True. And it’s not like I can just inflate the cost of one of the planes. I’ve got specs, and pictures, and everything. It wouldn’t be believable to try to squeeze too much more money out of ‘em.”

Jemma slurped down the last of her juice and tossed the cup into a trash can as they walked by. Beside the trash can was a glass door, marked “Employees Only.” She could see through it down a corridor, where a man and a woman dressed in the ship’s dark blue uniform spoke to each other. An idea began to form in her mind.

“What if… now, hear me out, Fitz, because this idea might be truly ridiculous.”

“I’m listening.” They’d reached the front of the ship, where the deck opened up to reveal a veritable garden of potted plants and palms. A row of lounge chairs sat amidst the greenery, and Fitz gestured for them to sit. They did, each sinking onto adjacent chairs, facing each other with their feet still on the deck. Jemma scooted to the edge of her chair, leaning in close to him. If she’d struck gold with this idea, she quite obviously didn’t want anyone to hear.

“What if we sell this?” She held out both hands, gesturing expansively all around them. He looked flummoxed.

“What, the plants?”

“Ugh, Fitz! No. The _ship_.”

Realization bloomed on his face, and he nodded a few times, slowly. “Yeah, yeah, that could work. A ship like this must cost millions.” He glanced around at the few guests nearby. “And some of them can certainly afford it.”

“We could pretend we’re the owners of the cruise line. Pretend we are travelling on the ship as a last hurrah. Perhaps to see if any of the other passengers are worthy of owning the _Rose of the Seven Seas_ ,” she suggested, affecting a posh accent as she mentioned the ship’s name.

“And you puff up their ego, then I duck in with the ship’s specs, some bogus profit margins... “ He scooted closer to her, face expressive.

“And then we’re golden!”

 

\----

 

Jemma was enjoying a what passed for a healthy - if opulent - dinner on this ship when Fitz scooted into the chair across from her, eyes bright with excitement. She hadn’t seen him since he’d disappeared after their combined breakfast/lunch, but hadn’t been too concerned. Now, though, she eyed him curiously, unsure whether she had seen him this thrilled about anything since she’d met him.

“This ship is _incredible_ ,” he enthused.

“Really?” Jemma  asked, leaning forward, drawn by his passion. He grinned, looking boyishly handsome, and Jemma wondered why it hadn’t really occurred to her before that he actually was quite attractive.

“Yeah,” he said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I talked my way below deck - told them I was an engineer, which I almost was, and they let me look at the engine and everything. The ship is a marvel. Much of it runs on solar power, but they also convert the leftover cooking oil into fuel for the generator when they need it. It’s a really clever design.”

“Gosh, that _is_ good. I had no idea.”

“I’ll show you,” he said excitedly, pulling a notebook out of the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. He slid into the chair next to her and angled the book in her direction. Inside were perfectly detailed, precise, and admittedly rather beautiful drawings of various mechanical components that Jemma didn’t recognise.

She watched as he began to describe the various parts and they way they moved, unconsciously leaning towards her as he spoke. Jemma didn’t shift away. She was too entranced watching the way his hands moved across the pages and his eyes lit up as he told her about the many design features on board. His warm weight was a surprising comfort by her side.

“Fitz, these drawings are beautiful. Where did you learn to do this?”

A blush crept up his neck. “I, ah...I studied to be an engineer. It was always my dream. I had to drop out before completing my final year, though. Financial troubles. You know.”

Jemma took a breath to reply when a voice interrupted her.

“What do you have there?”

Jemma snapped her head around to see Gonzales peering down at them suspiciously. Fitz quickly flipped his notebook closed and they both smiled up at the intruder.

“Fitz was just showing me some of his sketches. He likes to design things. As a hobby, you know?” She placed her hand on Fitz’s arm in a possessive gesture of affection.

Gonzales’ eyes narrowed. “You two are a very unusual couple,” he said after a moment.

Jemma’s back straightened. “No, we aren’t. We are perfectly normal.” Even she could hear the slightly panicked note creep into her voice.

Gonzales gave her a disbelieving look. Fitz placed a soothing hand over hers where she gripped the fabric of his jacket.

“You two are on your honeymoon, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Fitz replied slowly. They had to tread carefully here, as Gonzales seemed uncomfortably suspicious.

“I have run this cruise for almost twenty years. In all that time I have never seen a honeymooning couple so disinterested in each other.”

The bottom dropped out of Jemma’s stomach. “We are plenty into each other. It’s why we got married. Right, honey?” The words crept out from behind her clenched jaw.

“Right,” Fitz agreed, tucking an imaginary strand of hair behind Jemma’s ear, his fingers lingering. She shivered as sensations tingled through her, and forcibly reminded herself that he was just playing his role.

“Sure,” said Gonzales, but Jemma could tell he didn’t mean it.

Desperate, she sifted through her mind for some kind of excuse. She glanced at Fitz, but he was of no help to her.

“Ah, well, given that the median age of the guests here lands somewhere in the older generations, we didn’t want to embarrass our fellow cruise members with any overt public displays of affection. We are still getting our bearings and didn’t know how much was acceptable. We couldn’t bear it if we offended anyone.”

Gonzales’ gaze became less suspicious, and Jemma seized her advantage. “Believe me, keeping my hands off this one hasn’t been easy.” She slid an obvious hand up the inside of Fitz’s thigh, feeling him jump in surprise. She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “He’s a real tiger, if you know what I mean.”

Gonzales’ cheeks became visibly redder and he suddenly seemed incapable of looking her in the eye. Jemma stared at him, a rigid smile on her face, not daring to glance away even to note Fitz’s reaction to her antics. Thankfully, he was at least still and silent behind her. His hand even drifted up from where it had rested over hers in order to brush lightly against her shoulder. Jemma’s smile relaxed. He was playing the game.

“On behalf of the crew on the _Rose of the Seven Seas_ , we wish to make our guests as comfortable as possible. I’m sure that public displays of affection are expected on a honeymoon cruise, and wouldn’t wish you to alter your behaviour in any substantial way if it affects your time aboard our ship.” He sounded like he was reading the rules verbatim. He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to hers. Jemma tried to look lascivious, if that was at all possible. Gonzales gulped. “Within reason, of course.”

Jemma grinned. “Well, thank you for that. I feel _so_ much more comfortable now. Don’t you, Fitz?”

“Hmmm?”

She dug her fingers into his thigh. “Don’t you feel more comfortable?” she asked with false sweetness.

“Yes,” Fitz replied unconvincingly. “Very comfortable.”

Jemma grinned up at Gonzales. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Yes, right,” he said, bowing hurriedly before moving away as fast as he could without attracting attention.

“What was that about?” Fitz hissed as soon as he was out of earshot.

“What?” Jemma asked innocently.

Fitz gestured at his lap, where her fingers were still curled into his upper thigh. Jemma cleared her throat and removed them.

“It’s a known fact that public displays of affection, and from my experience, particularly with women that are considered sexually confident, tend to make people uncomfortable. It was the best way to get rid of him and stop his line of questioning.”

“Well, as long as it worked, I guess. Thank goodness it’s over.” He didn’t sound quite as sure as the words implied.

Jemma cleared her throat delicately. “Um, not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that now he will expect us to be... _affectionate_ in public.”

“You mean…?” He didn’t finish the thought, but there was no need. Jemma nodded.

“Next time we see him, we better be all over each other. Or God help us.”

Fitz visibly swallowed. “But he pops up at such unexpected times.”

“Right. Well, honestly, it was fairly shortsighted of us not to see this coming. We should have thought of it sooner. We _are_ on a honeymoon cruise, after all.”

They both looked around the room, seeing couples from every generation touching or gazing at each other with affection. A couple that had to be nearing 90 swayed gently together on the dance floor, lost in the music and their partner’s eyes. Jemma swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, wondering at her reaction.

Fitz coughed. “So from now on we’ll have to act...couple-y?”

“Yes!” Jemma said brightly, putting a brave face on it.

She watched as Fitz seemed to steel himself as if against an unpleasant task. “Alright then.”

Jemma chose not to be annoyed by his obvious reluctance, and instead focused on the future. “Alright,” she agreed.

  


\---

  


“What about them?” he asked, indicating the older couple that she had noticed at dinner.

“Too old,” she murmured with a shake of her head. The two of them were leaning back in their chair, heads bent together as they people watched. Together they were surveying possible marks for their scheme. Jemma felt lazy and relaxed after a big meal and a few glasses of wine, as she and Fitz drifted closer together.

“Why do you say that?” he asked with an adorably confused frown.

“They aren’t going to want to make a big investment now. They will want to enjoy their retirement and what they already have in their twilight years.”

Fitz considered that for a moment. “Alright, makes sense. How about them?”

In unison, their eyes shifted over to a young couple over by the opposite wall. Jemma examined the rigid set of the man’s shoulders and the woman’s wide-eyed stare.

“I think they’d be too much work.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, more curious than put out.

“Well, they are clearly new money, given the way her eyes dart around the room, staring at the opulence. Normally I would consider that a good thing, because those not used to money are more likely to spend it. However, I think he seems to be unwilling to spend his good fortune, as if he is expecting it to be taken away at any given moment.”

Fitz gave her an impressed look, and Jemma couldn’t help but feel warm at his regard.

“How do you read people so well?”

Jemma watched her finger as she ran it over the expensive thread count of the tablecloth. She couldn’t quite look at him.

“I was studying, too, on my way to becoming a BioChemist. I kind of fell into this life instead when I realised I wanted to be around people. Research doesn’t offer a whole lot of opportunities in that area. I needed a bit of extra cash, so one day I used what I knew about human biology and people’s hormonal reactions to get some when an opportunity fell into my lap. Before long, it was just so easy that it had kind of taken over my life. I liked how it made me feel. Powerful. In control. So I dropped out and started pursuing it full time.”

She looked up, but saw no judgement on Fitz’s face.

“Huh. Makes sense. So, who would you pick?”

She looked around, considering. Many couples were easy to dismiss; others required a slightly closer look. Eventually, her eyes caught on a comfortable-looking couple in their forties sitting in a far corner. After a moment, Jemma nodded decisively.

“Them,” she said, indicating her chosen marks.

Fitz looked their way and his eyebrows shot up. “Interesting choice.”

“They’re perfect. Clearly comfortable with wealth in general and theirs in particular. I haven’t seen him on a phone or laptop since we arrived, so he likely doesn’t get his money from a high-powered job. No man in that position would have a true vacation away from it. My guess is he was born into money, so he might be looking for investment opportunities to increase his wealth.” Fitz tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Besides, they seem happy,” Jemma continued. “They like this ship and are clearly having a good time here. That will make it easier to sell it to them.”

Fitz nodded slowly. “Good enough for me.”

He grabbed her hand as he stood, tugging her to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Jemma asked.

“We are going to say hello,” Fitz said, as if it were obvious. Jemma pulled him to a stop.

“We can’t just go over there. That’s suspicious.”

Fitz sighed. “Well, people are watching us now. We have to do _some_ thing.”

Jemma changed direction slightly. “This way.”

“What are you doing?” His voice rose slightly in panic, and Jemma guessed he already knew the answer to that question.

“We are going to dance,” she told him as they reached the nearly empty dance floor.

“Must we?” he asked as she stepped into his body. His arms came around her automatically.

Jemma didn’t say anything, just started to sway. Their gazes locked and he followed her lead without any more questions. Their bodies moved together with ease, swaying together to the slow jazz beat.

Jemma’s breath sped up as her heartbeat slowed to a deep and steady rhythm.  His hand slipped lower on her back, and Jemma pressed herself more firmly against him.

They danced like that for a few minutes, and Jemma tried not to lose focus on their objective. She subtly led Fitz around the edge of the dance floor, eventually coming to a spot right near the couple they had selected.

Jemma lifted a questioning brow, and a silent communication passed between her and Fitz. He spun her out away from his body with a sudden jolt. Jemma twirled gracefully, laughing as if sharing a private joke with her husband.

She lightly bumped into the table where the couple they were hunting sat. She grinned breathlessly at them.

“I’m so sorry,” she told them, knowing that with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she must look the picture of happiness.

“It’s quite alright,” said the man indulgently.

“We haven’t danced like that in years.” The woman glanced at the man, a playful glint in her eye. “I’m almost jealous.”

Jemma detected a slight truth behind her words. “We’re newlyweds,” she explained, reaching for Fitz behind her and feeling his palm settle instantly against hers.

“Ah, that explains it,” said the woman. “I thought I caught a hint of young love between you two.”

“Hey, we aren’t doing too badly,” said her husband with mock offense. “I brought you on this cruise, didn’t I?”

The woman’s eyes softened as they landed on her husband. “And I’m having a lovely time.” She reached for him, and their fingers entwined on top of the table. Jemma felt a pang at the easy affection between the two. How long had it been since she’d had a relationship that lasted longer than the few weeks required for her to get what she wanted? Longer than she could remember.

She forced a smile to dispel her errant thoughts.

“We are so glad you are enjoying the cruise. It means a lot to us,” Fitz said, stepping up beside her. Jemma smiled up at him, grateful that he took the opportunity.

The couple frowned in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Oh, didn’t we mention?” Fitz said with a slightly predatory smile. “We own the cruise line.”

So it began.

  


\---

  


The next few days passed smoothly, with Fitz and Jemma making friends with the couple - Tom and Dharma - without any apparent motive. They just kept ‘accidentally’ running into each other (though this time not literally) until they gave in and began to plan activities together.

It was now three days later, and they were sharing a lovely dinner with the couple. Fitz and Jemma had managed not to mention owning the cruise again at all in the last few days, as per Jemma’s instruction. She could tell the couple was curious, though, and waited patiently until they asked about the connection.

“So then I said-- ‘Bruce, if you’re going to spend that much time in the sandtraps, we may as well have gone to the beach!’” Fitz grinned as the rest of the table laughed merrily. He dipped the last bit of his dinner roll in the rich sauce that accompanied his chicken and let his gaze drift to Jemma for a moment. She was watching him, leaned back in her chair with a warmth in her eyes and a smile playing at her lips. She took a sip of her wine, not breaking eye contact with him. It made him feel something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he shook his head slightly to clear it. “Tom, do you play?”

“No, I never was great on the links,” Tom said, swirling his Scotch. “Dharma’s the golfer in the family.” He looked fondly at his wife, who blushed, laughing.

“I’m alright. Nothing to write home about.”

“You’re fantastic,” Tom corrected her softly. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand, and Fitz felt another pang of something he couldn’t identify.

Dharma turned her attention to Jemma and Fitz. “So, please feel free to tell me if I’m being rude, but-- I have to know. How does a couple so young own a cruise line like this?”

Fitz made eye contact with Jemma again. _Jackpot_. He nodded just barely, just enough to let her know to take this one.

“Well, I’m afraid it’s not the most exciting story in the world,” she began. “It’s a simple matter of inheritance. It was my father’s business-- his baby-- and he and my mum unfortunately passed away suddenly a few years ago.” She offered Tom and Dharma a tight, watery smile. “Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Tom, brows furrowed in sympathy.

“You must have been just a kid. That’s such a tragedy,” added Dharma.

It wasn’t. Fitz knew from their get-to-know-you session in the hot tub that both of Jemma’s parents were alive and well, living in England. He reached over and took his “wife’s” hand, anyway.

“It was difficult, yes,” she continued. “But I threw myself into the business. Seeing this ship bring joy to so many people has made it all mean something. Don’t you agree, honey?”

It took Fitz a split-second longer than it should have to remember that in this case, “honey” was him. Once he did, he hummed in agreement. “It truly has. Although…” he trailed off, tilting his head to the side. Tom and Dharma were watching him with rapt attention.

“What is it?”

He sighed. “It’s just… don’t get me wrong; this business is incredibly fulfilling. But it’s kept us so busy. Taken us away from other passions.”

“Like what?” asked Dharma.

Fitz frowned. “Well, I used to do a bit of inventing. Engineering different types of devices.” He didn’t know why he was telling this bit of selective truth. He scratched lightly at the tablecloth with his thumbnail, looking down. “It was nothing, really, just a hobby.”

“Pretty impressive hobby,” Tom said. When Fitz glanced back up, the older couple was watching him admiringly, while Jemma gave him a curious look. Like she was studying him. He could only hold her gaze for a moment.

“More importantly,” he pushed on, steering the subject back to his more comfortable lies. “We hardly had time to enjoy our engagement. We even got married at the courthouse rather than taking the time to plan a real wedding.”

“And I do so love weddings,” Jemma interjected, pouting. Pouting adorably, Fitz observed, though he tried to ignore it.

“If I’m being perfectly honest…” _Hook._

“Yes?” Dharma’s eyes were wide and sympathetic.

“I’m a little afraid that this ship… as much as I love the old girl… will get in the way of us starting a family…” _Line_.

Tom let out a sad little sigh.

“Before it’s too late. And infertility seems to run in Jemma’s family after the age of 30. Time is, sadly, not on our side.” _Sinker._

 

\--

 

“Infertility runs in _my_ family?” Jemma hissed as they walked down the corridor toward their stateroom. “Why _my_ family? Why can’t _you_ be the one who’s shooting blanks?”

“Neither of us is shooting blanks, Jemma. Remember? It’s fake.” She rolled her eyes, and he fought a grin. When had he started thinking _that_ was cute, too?

“I _realize_ that, but I still think it was a bit much. Simply lamenting the fact that we don’t have time for children while we’re so busy with the ship would have sufficed.”

They reached their room, and Fitz fumbled in his right-side jacket pocket for his key. Wordlessly, she pulled open the left side of his jacket and pulled it out of that pocket, sliding it into the lock and opening the door with ease. He followed her in, shutting it snugly behind him.

“The bottom line is, it made Tom ask if we were considering selling. The bait has been laid. The trap has been set.”

Jemma eyed him from the dresser, where she was removing her earrings and setting them inside a little decorative bowl. “Well. True.” She fiddled with the clasp of the delicate gold necklace she wore. “Just don’t go off book again.”

“Alright, alright.” Fitz held up his hands placatingly. “I still think the infertility is what pushed him over the edge,” he muttered, taking a few steps toward her. She was clearly struggling with the necklace. He stood a few feet behind her, watching her in the mirror. “Need a hand?”

She started to shake her head, then let her hands drop to her sides and offered him a sheepish smile. “Could you? I must have had one glass of wine too many. I’m all thumbs tonight.” He stepped closer, pushing her hair onto one shoulder to expose her neck and the offending clasp.

“Hold your hair,” he murmured, and she did, pulling it forward and bowing her head so he could have more room to work. He pinched the clasp of the necklace between his thumb and forefinger, using his other thumbnail to work it. The knuckles of his hand brushed against her skin and he thought he noticed goosebumps rise where they’d touched. But maybe not. After all, wasn’t it warm in the room?

A moment later the clasp was undone, and he drew his hands forward, one side of the necklace clutched in each one, until he practically had his arms around her shoulders. He dragged his gaze from where it had been fixated on the expanse of skin at the nape of her neck to meet hers in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Another moment passed as he stood awkwardly, almost embracing her, holding her necklace in both hands, until she finally cleared her throat and took it from him, looking down at the dresser.

Fitz took two quick steps back. _What was that about?_ He wondered if perhaps he’d had one drink too many, as well.

They continued getting ready for bed in a silence that was only slightly charged. Over the past few nights, they had developed a routine-- she used the bathroom first, then he did, and when he came out, she was usually in bed reading. One night, she’d already been asleep. Rarely did they interact much once the lights were out.

When Fitz flicked off the bathroom light this time and padded into the room, the same was true. Jemma was burrowed under the covers on her side, though as usual, she’d left a lamp on for him. He switched it off as he climbed into bed beside her on his back, shutting his eyes.

“Fitz?” Her voice was soft, muffled partly by the pillow. He turned his head to look at her.

“Yeah?”

She was silent for a long moment. Had she fallen asleep? Finally, she sighed softly and spoke again. “Do you ever wonder what we’re doing?”

Fitz furrowed his brow and rolled over on his side to face her. He slid one hand under his pillow, the other coming to rest on the bed between them. “What do you mean?”

Jemma yawned, scooting the slightest bit closer. “Do you ever wonder why we’re doing all this?”

“What-- why we’re on this trip?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes. “More than that.”

He shut his eyes for a moment, too. “You mean why we do what we do to begin with?” He heard the sound of her hair against the pillow and knew she was nodding. “No,” he lied. “Do you?” He held his breath, though he wasn’t sure why, and kept his eyes closed.

“No,” she whispered.

When he opened his eyes, just a few moments later, her breathing was calm and even, looking peaceful save for a slight wrinkle between her brows. She was asleep. Fitz blinked at her, then rolled over onto his other side, facing away, and slowly fell into a fitful sleep of his own.

 

\--

 

Fitz stirred sleepily, scrunching his eyes shut against the morning light seeping in from their balcony doors. Yawning, he slowly became aware of his surroundings, and of the warm softness beneath his arm.

He wrenched his eyes open, drawing his head up a few inches from the pillow. At some point in the night, he must have rolled over onto his stomach in the middle of the bed, and flung an arm across Jemma’s middle. Still asleep on her back (and didn’t she usually wake up ages before him?), one of Jemma’s hands rested lightly on his forearm.

For a few long moments, he stayed still, frozen in place. Then, he slowly began to pull his arm back, sliding it out from under her hand and away from her body.

As soon as he was no longer touching any part of her, she made a little noise, halfway between a groan and a moan. His eyes widened. She rolled over onto her side, facing him, and scooted closer, presumably responding to the loss of his warmth. Fitz couldn’t move as she nestled close to him, her face just inches from his.

And then she opened her eyes.

“Wha--?” Jemma blinked quickly before pulling her head back in surprise. “Fitz!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, even though _he_ hadn’t been the one to make near-pornographic sounds while snuggling closer in his sleep. He suppressed a smile at that.

She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and staying there for a moment. “I didn’t, um… I don’t…”

“It’s, ah. It’s okay--”

“I must have been having some sort of nightmare--”

“‘Course you were.”

She whipped her head around at him, fixing him with a glare. “I _was_.”

“Hey, I didn’t say a thing.” Still laying on his side, he fluffed the pillow beneath his head as he watched her. “Nightmares can be pretty intense.”

Jemma stood up from the bed and crossed her arms. “I’m going to take a shower,” she grumbled, shutting the door to the bathroom behind her a little harder than usual.

Fitz chuckled, burrowing further down beneath the covers and trying to remember the dream he had been having before he woke up, but the tendrils of it kept drifting out of reach. Listening to the steady drum of the shower spray, he let himself fall back asleep.  

 

\--

 

Jemma felt a little bit strange all morning. She felt better after her shower, and even better after they ventured out to the cafe in companionable silence for a healthy breakfast. Well, a healthy breakfast for her-- Fitz, predictably, chose three different kinds of breakfast meats.

Still, she felt odd and she couldn’t seem to completely shake it.

“Jemma? Jemma? Jem?” When she finally realized Fitz was calling her name from across the breakfast table, she started, shaking her head to clear it.

“Sorry, Fitz, what were you saying?”

He raised both eyebrows, but continued. “I think we ought to meet up with Tom and Dharma this afternoon. Maybe a little divide and conquer? I take Tom up to the cigar lounge, and you take Dharma to get your nails done?” He shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. “Or whatever it is ladies do when they’re alone together.”

Jemma rolled her eyes-- habit, at this point-- but it wasn’t a bad idea. “Okay-- but remember, the soft sell, like we talked about.”

“I know, I know. Make him think it’s his idea. I have done this before, Jemma, you know.”

“Yes, but not like this, you haven’t. You’ve got to--”

Suddenly, Fitz stiffened in his seat, setting his teacup in its saucer with a clink. “Incoming.” When she oh-so-subtly glanced behind her, she spotted Gonzales making his way in their direction. Jemma shifted closer to Fitz as Gonzales was distracted by a couple that greeted him.

She looked towards Fitz, not quite knowing what to do. Her eyes caught on his face, the morning sunlight from the porthole streaming through the window and highlighting its angles. She noticed he must have forgotten to shave that morning, as his stubble had settled in a next-day shadow. His eyes were warm as they landed on hers.

As ever, Jemma was surprised by how handsome he was. And with that thought, out of nowhere came a plan. Well, not quite a plan, but an idea.

Not thinking it through any further, Jemma grabbed Fitz by the back of his neck and hauled him forward. As their lips touched she had a moment of pure panic, but after a brief hesitation, Fitz began to respond to her. His lips brushed over hers, slowly at first, then with more urgency as his hand slid up the bare skin of her arm.

Jemma’s own hand tangled in his hair and any thoughts of Gonzales flew from her mind. Fitz pulled her closer, nudging her mouth open with his tongue. Heat shot through her, lighting her veins with an unfamiliar fire. She gasped at the sensation, instinctively arching her back, pushing her breasts closer to Fitz.

He groaned in response, a deep rumble in his chest. His hand slipped around to rest on her ribcage, frustratingly close to where she wanted it.

Just as Jemma was reaching for his hand to manoeuver it a few inches higher, the sound of a throat being cleared resounded in her ears. They both froze, lips clinging for an awkward moment before they sprang apart. Jemma could feel red blazing onto her cheeks.

She glanced up to see Gonzales staring at them with a look of mingled discomfort and horror on his face.

“When you said that you wanted to engage in public displays of affection…” he trailed off, still looking blindsided.

“Now you understand why we were worried,” Jemma said with as much poise as she could, recovering a little.

“Just...just use moderation,” he told them. He turned away without waiting for an answer.

Jemma glanced at Fitz, and then quickly away. Her face flushed hot. What had she been thinking?

“That was...very clever,” Fitz said. He cleared his throat.

“Errr...clever?” Jemma asked.

“To allay Gonzales’ suspicions like that.”

“Right. Yes. Exactly.”

Jemma was still trying to sort out her conflicted feelings about what had just happened when Tom and Dharma slid into the seats across from them.

“Well, that was quite a display!” Dharma laughed, her eyes bright with amusement.

“We got a little carried away,” Jemma said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Maybe you were getting started on that baby-making, eh, Fitz?” Tom said jovially, clapping Fitz on the shoulder. Fitz laughed unconvincingly in reply.

Jemma felt Fitz’s eyes on her, but she was at a loss to explain his soft expression. Her breath caught in her throat, regardless. “Can you blame me?” Fitz murmured, brushing his fingers against her cheek.

Jemma lost herself in Fitz’s eyes for a brief second before turning back to Dharma and Tom in time to see them gaze soulfully at each other.

“Not even in the slightest,” said Tom, gaze never straying from his wife’s face.

The pair radiated such love and warmth that Jemma felt a frisson of...was that envy? She shook her head, trying to clear the odd thought. But the lingering feeling of strangeness that had plagued her all morning returned with a vengeance.

“We were like that, Tom, when we first met. Weren’t we?”

Tom shifted in his seat to face his wife, an incredulous look on his face. “Are you kidding me? Do you not remember the time we almost got kicked out of Clay’s Tavern? Or the--” He lowered his voice, raising his eyebrows at her. “The golf course?”

Jemma watched as Dharma covered her mouth with one hand, blushing and laughing at the same time.

“How could I _ever_ forget the golf course?” Tom waggled his eyebrows at her, setting off another fit of giggles, and Jemma let out a small sigh. She hoped she could be that happy with someone someday. Her eyes drifted to Fitz, who was watching them just as fondly.

“How did you two meet?” he asked. Jemma was surprised-- she hadn’t pegged him for the type to enjoy a good love story, but she wanted to hear it either way.

“Oh, Tom tells it better than I do.”

“She’s lying, of course, but I’ll tell it anyway.” Tom grinned at Dharma, then turned back to Fitz and Jemma, leaning on the table with his elbows. “My father was a cardiologist at our local hospital before he passed, and that meant that every summer through college, he got me a job there. First I was a candy striper--don’t laugh; I was the best candy striper that town ever saw.”

Jemma chuckled, resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand.

“Once I was a little older, though, they let me take on more responsibilities. Mostly checking in patients; I wasn’t practicing medicine or anything. So one day--”

“--the hottest day of the year,” Dharma interjected.

“July 21, 1994. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was checking in ER patients, which was no easy task, mind you-- and this…goddess...came hobbling in.”

“I looked terrible. My leg was bleeding everywhere, my hair was matted to my head with sweat.” Dharma wrinkled her nose and shuddered at the memory. “I was disgusting. And in _so_ much pain.”

“She’d had a little run-in with a tree on her bicycle. It sounds worse than it was.”

“It was pretty bad.”

“Okay, it was pretty bad. She needed 17 stitches. And I was supposed to keep checking in patients all afternoon, but I couldn’t stop sneaking back into the room they had her in, bringing her cups of water, asking if she was okay.” He reached over and took Dharma’s hand, stroking it with his thumb. “Asking for her number.”

“Which I gave him. I’m surprised I gave him the right one, though, given how much pain medicine I was on at that point.”

“I took her out the next day. Do you know how hard it is to take a girl out dancing when she’s on crutches?”

Jemma laughed, shaking her head. She heard Fitz laugh beside her, and peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked… happy. Relaxed. Like a man enjoying a completely normal evening with friends. She couldn’t lie to herself-- he looked like someone she’d want to know better. If things were different, of course.

“Well, suffice to say, our first date did _not_ go well,” Tom continued. “But for some reason, she agreed to see me again the next day. And the day after that.”

“Every day that week,” Dharma added. Tom nodded.

“Every day that week. The day she came back into the hospital to get her stitches taken out, I told her I loved her, and that I intended to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“I thought _he_ was the one hopped up on pain meds at that point.”

Tom shrugged, leaning back in his chair and holding out his hands as if to say _voila_. “The rest is history. We’ve been together ever since.”

Jemma could barely restrain herself from saying “awww” out loud. Beside her, Fitz let out a low whistle. “It happened that fast, huh?”

Tom and Dharma met each others’ eyes. Jemma thought they looked every bit as in love as they must have twenty years prior.

“Sometimes, you just have to trust your instincts,” said Tom, still looking at Dharma. Jemma’s gaze drifted to Fitz, and she began to feel warm when she noticed he was watching her. Tom turned back to them, a broad smile on his face. “Fitz knows what I mean, don’t you? You must have known from day one with this one.”

“Actually, at first I thought she was annoying.”

 _Annoying?_ If anything, he was the one who had come off as annoying. Still did at times, for that matter. She opened her mouth to object, but he continued.

“But it didn’t take long, no. I could tell she was special early on.” He fidgeted with the napkin at his place setting as she watched him intently. “Sometimes you just know what you want out of life.”

“Exactly,” said Tom. “And that’s as good a segue as any into the other thing we wanted to talk to you two about. I guess you guys really are serious about selling the ship, huh?”

Jemma sat up straighter. Right. The mission. She focused her concentration on Tom, but the happiness she’d been feeling quickly dissipated, leaving an inexplicable sensation of unease in her gut.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Fitz. “I mean, it is a lot of work, and I’m not really sure it’s worth it, you know?”

Jemma’s eyes flew to Fitz. What the hell was he doing? He was meant to be _selling_ the ship.

“Oh, is it really that difficult to maintain?” Dharma asked, seeming concerned.

“Of course not,” Jemma said with a rigid smile. She kicked Fitz under the table. “Fitz is just being dramatic. He thinks that any time not focused on me or our future family is a waste. He’s so broody.” Her smile relaxed into something resembling smugness. It was nice to have payback for his earlier implications about her infertility.

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her. “Me? Broody? May I remind you that _you_ were the one that dragged me…”

Jemma playfully clapped her hand over Fitz’s mouth. “I don’t think they need to hear whichever story is about to come out of your mouth, darling,” Jemma said not entirely jokingly. She gave him a warning look and removed her hand.

Fitz winked at her - _winked_ \- and smiled wickedly. “You’re probably right, sweetheart.”

“So,” Tom began with false casualness. “You’d say that the cruise line would be a good deal? If you were to, you know, sell it.”

Fitz leaned forward. “Well, to be honest, and just between you and me…” Jemma placed a warning hand on his thigh. Fitz sighed. “It would be an absolute steal,” he finished, with a strange and almost undetectable edge in his voice. Jemma was worried for a brief moment that Tom and Dharma wouldn’t buy his less-than-convincing performance.

She needn’t have worried, however. She could see the tension ease out of their shoulders.

“Well, in that case,” Tom began. “I think we might have something to discuss.

  


\---

  


Later that afternoon, Jemma paced the cabin she shared with Fitz, boiling with frustration. She heard a cardkey in the lock outside and barely waited for Fitz to shut the door before she rounded on him.

“What the hell was that out there today? You nearly blew the whole thing.”

Fitz stepped back, his jaw clenching in anger. “Why are you so mad? It turned out perfectly, didn’t it?”

He stripped off his jacket in short, jerky movements and threw it on the nearest chair.

“Did it?” she demanded.

Fitz sighed. “ _Yes_. I named the price we agreed on and he offered to buy the damned ship. Are you happy now?”

“No. And not just because he talked to you without me. It’s supposed to be _our_ cruise line.”

“I said I dealt with the money. It made sense he’d come to me. But that’s beside the point. Why are you angry at me? _You_ were the one that kissed _me_!”

She stiffened. That was _not_ what she’d expected him to say. “You think this is about some kiss?”

“Isn’t it?”

They both stood there, breathing hard as they stared each other down. Fitz’s expression was the first to gentle.

“What is this really about, Jemma?”

She sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out, turning away from him. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling weird all day.” She needlessly straightened the row of tiny lotions that sat atop the dresser. “I don’t know what’s causing it.”

“Maybe...maybe guilt? Over what we are doing to Tom and Dharma?” Fitz suggested with what sounded like a touch of hope. Surely she must be hearing things, in addition to the odd feeling in her gut she couldn’t seem to shake.

“What? No. Of course not,” she denied instantly, turning back to face him. “What would make you say that?”

“No reason,” he said quickly.

“Are _you_ having second thoughts?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Right. Good.”

“Yep.”

They stared at each other again, this time with a considering wariness.

“We should go down and meet Tom and Dharma for dinner?” Fitz asked eventually.

“I guess so.”

With one last, lingering look, the two turned away to get ready.

  


\---

  


A few hours later, low-level tension still simmered between Fitz and Jemma. He still couldn’t figure out why she had reacted so strongly earlier. Her face gave no clues. She was currently smiling at something Dharma was saying, the strain on her face only visible to someone who knew her well.

Fitz blinked, wondering when he had begun to consider himself part of that group. He barely knew her, after all.

“What do you say, Fitz?” Jemma’s voice broke into his thoughts. Her raised brow indicated that she had asked a variation of this question at least once before during his distraction.

“Hmm?” he asked. Tom and Dharma shared an amused look.

“Tom would like to see the schematics of the ship before he buys it. You can organise that, right?” She gave him a warning look.

“The schematics?” he asked, his voice rising on the last word despite his effort to stay calm.

“Yeah. I’d just like to see what I’m getting.”

“Right, sure. That makes sense.” He nodded vigorously.

“Do you think I could have a look at them tonight?” Tom asked.

Fitz threw a glance at Jemma. She gave a subtle ‘nod and shrug’ move that Fitz assumed meant _I guess we’ll have to_. An idea jumped into his mind. He felt himself relax as he leant back in the seat.

“Yeah, sure. No problem at all.”

“Really?” asked Jemma, sounding surprised.

“Of course. I can arrange that.”

“Right. Great.”

“I’ll go get it right now.”

“Oh, okay. Sounds great.”

Fitz smiled. Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward a placed a quick kiss on Jemma’s lips. She blinked in confusion and Fitz’s grin widened.

“Be back soon.”

He strode out, making his way through the low-lit evening corridors of the ship. He passed Gonzales on the way out, nodding to the man when he caught his eye. Fitz went directly downstairs, making for an office he had seen in his original exploration of the ship.

When he reached the door he tried the knob. Of course, it was locked. Fitz got out his pocket knife and knelt in front of the lock. He glanced up and down the corridor to make sure it was clear. A flash of movement caught his eye at the end of the corridor. He froze, watching. The movement didn’t come back, so Fitz mentally shrugged, turning his attention back to the lock.

After a moment, it clicked open. Fitz smiled. He’d always had a bit of a gift when it came to mechanics. A lock was just another mechanical device.

He slipped inside the office, pulling out his cellphone to use as a torch. Fitz began to sift through the papers on the desk. When he couldn’t see what he needed there, he tugged open the drawers and flipped through the file folders he found.

When he didn’t find the schematics, he swept the light from his phone around the room. His eyes caught on a safe in the corner of the room. Excitement thrummed through him.

The safe had a digital code, but it was at least ten years old. _Shouldn’t be too hard to crack_ , he reasoned.

Three minutes later, the door to the safe swung open. Fitz grinned and reached inside. The schematics were sitting on top, the familiar inked drawings immediately catching his eye.

Fitz shut the safe and was just tucking the pages into the interior pocket of his suit jacket when he heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening. He shut his eyes briefly in defeat, his earlier excitement draining out of him.

“Turn around.” It was Gonzales’ gruff voice.

Fitz sighed and slowly turned to face his enemy. Gonzales was backlit by the hallway light, blocking Fitz’s only escape route. He heard a click, then the light flickered on.

“Hi there,” said Fitz, flashing a winning smile.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Gonzales asked, his voice dripping with suspicion.

“Got myself a little turned around,” Fitz prevaricated. “I was looking for a map.”

“This office is kept locked at all times,” Gonzales hissed in response.

“Is it meant to be? Because it was wide open. Looks like someone was slacking on the job,” Fitz told him slyly.

Gonzales’ jaw visibly clenched. “I don’t believe you.”

“No? That’s a shame. But not my problem.”

“I can make it your problem. One call to security and my guards will throw you off this ship.”

Fear slithered down Fitz’s spine, and he stood up straighter, hoping to look more confident than he felt. “No, they won’t. We’re in the middle of the ocean. They are hardly going to throw an innocent guest overboard.” He managed to keep his voice casual, but barely.

Gonzales narrowed his eyes. “One more word and I’ll lock you up somewhere in the depths of this ship.”

Fitz held his hand up in supplication. He was about to say something else when a familiar voice sounded down the hall.

“Fitz? Honey? Did you get lost again?”

Gonzales rolled his eyes skyward as Fitz grinned. “I’m in here, babe. Waiting for you.”

Jemma appeared at Gonzales’ shoulder.

She didn’t even glance at Gonzales. “Babe, when you said you had a thing for machines, I thought you meant the engine room. Aren’t we going to...” she raised her brows significantly.

“I was trying, but unfortunately I got a little lost. All these corridors...”

Jemma giggled - giggled! - and tried to nudge Gonzales out of the way. “You have a truly awful sense of direction.”

“So you’ve said. Many times.”

Jemma glanced to her left, apparently noticing Gonzales for the first time. “Oh, hello there. If you don’t mind, I need my husband back. We have some...er... _business_ to discuss.”

Gonzales’ lip curled up in annoyance, but he stepped aside. Fitz knew that it must frustrate the man that he had no actual proof of wrongdoing. The schematics burned within his jacket.

Fitz gave him a grin and took the hand Jemma held out. The two walked away, not looking back until they were well out of sight of their new nemesis. As soon as he was sure they were safe, Fitz turned and backed Jemma into a doorway, slightly obscuring them from any potential passersby.

The adrenaline from their near miss still thundered through his veins. A primal urge swept through him and he followed it without thinking. He cupped Jemma’s face with both his hands and pressed her back against the door with his body as he slanted his mouth across hers.

Jemma responded instantly and he felt a thrill of electricity. Sparks of heat jolted through him at every point of contact. He sucked her tongue into his mouth, reveling in the sensations that coursed through his entire body. Jemma’s hands clutched at him, her tongue tangling with his, giving back as much as she got.

Eventually, Fitz came back to himself, wondering what the hell he was doing. Reluctantly, he slowed the kiss and eased back. He broke contact, but kept his hands on the door behind her, caging her in.

“Wow,” she murmured as her eyes fluttered open. She looked as blindsided as he felt.

“Yeah,” he replied eloquently.

“What...ah, what was that for?” she asked, licking her lips. Fitz’s gaze fixated on her mouth for a moment before he wrenched back his concentration. “Did you see Gonzales again?”

“No,” Fitz said softly. “No Gonzales.”

“Oh,” was all Jemma said, not giving any clue to how she was feeling. Not that Fitz had any understanding of his own thoughts or emotions in that moment.

Jemma looked up at him, her eyes luminous. It was only then that everything clicked for him. His mind suddenly felt so clear.

He _liked_ Jemma.

And not just in a friendly way. In a planning-a-future-together kind of way. The kind of future with kids and a house and happiness. Normality.

And with that that thought, reality crashed down. That future that he envisioned was impossible for people like him and Jemma. They were criminals; thieves. They were about to pull off a massive con and disappear with a boatload of cash that didn’t belong to them. Go their separate ways.

Not for the first time, Fitz truly regretted his career choice. He had started to feel bad about Tom and Dharma. They were good people. But his lifestyle also meant that he could never plan a future like that. Especially not with Jemma.

He sighed, clenching a fist where it rested against the wall behind her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Jemma asked.

“Nothing,” Fitz murmured, stroking his fingers down her cheek. He couldn’t tell her. He still had to go through with it. There was no way he could disappoint Jemma now. Not with all her savings riding on this.

Not now that he had realized how he felt about her.

“Let’s go show them the schematics, huh? We’ll be able to finish this all up soon and move on.”

She frowned. “Move on? Do you mean from this job? Or from each other?”

Fitz look down at the floor. “From each other. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Split up the money and get back to our lives?” He didn’t allow himself to acknowledge the hope he held that she might say no. That she might want more.

“That was always the plan,” she said carefully.

“Right. Of course,” said Fitz, taking a few steps back and dropping his hands to his side.

“Are we going to talk about that kiss?” Jemma asked. She still hadn’t moved from her spot against the door.

“What’s there to say? It was the heat of the moment. I’m very grateful to you for-”

“Grateful?” she interrupted. “Is that all?”

“I...what else can there be between us?” As much as he tried to sound neutral, even he could hear the raw emotion in his voice.

“Well, I had thought...I guess I was wrong,” she finished, almost to herself. Fitz looked away from her accusing stare. It was easier for them to stop this now, before the pain of the separation later. Surely she saw that?

“We should get back,” Fitz murmured instead.

Jemma gave a sharp nod and pushed away from the door. She led the way down the corridor without looking back at him. Fitz sighed and followed.

 

\--

 

Jemma trailed her hand along the ship’s railing as she walked across the deck. The gentle rhythm of the dark sea had a calming effect on her. Helped her clear her mind.

She’d excused herself practically as soon as they’d returned to Tom and Dharma in the dining room, feigning a stomach ache and glaring at Fitz when he offered to walk her back to their room. He could handle finalizing the details of the deal himself if he was so eager to get on with it.

At least she hadn’t totally been lying. She’d been feeling sick to her stomach all day.

As much as she tried to put it out of her mind, her thoughts kept drifting back to that kiss. It had felt as if something were changing between them, a seismic shift that, when she really allowed herself to acknowledge it, might have started several days ago.

While he’d kissed her in that corridor, she had thought that maybe there was something more between them than just a partnership.

Apparently not.

Jemma reached the front of the deck, and the garden where she had first pitched the idea to sell the ship. Somehow, the thought that it had been her idea made her feel even worse. She sat down on the same lounge chair from which she’d told Fitz what a perfect opportunity it would be. That they would be fools to pass it up.

 _Ugh_. She curled her legs up onto the chair, lying on her side and crossing her arms over her chest. In just two days, she would be a millionaire. So why did she feel so terrible?

 

\--

 

When she let herself into the stateroom later that night, she was unsurprised to see that the lights were out. After all, why would Fitz wait up for her? She was just his business associate.

Jemma pressed her lips together, hard. She shook her head in hopes of ridding herself of the nagging thought that she wanted to be more than that and shut the door softly behind her.

Fitz appeared to be asleep in bed, a lump under the blanket, curled up on his side as close to the edge of the mattress as possible. Like he wanted to keep as much distance between them as he could. She sighed, trying not to think about how close they’d been when she’d woken up that morning, and walked carefully to the bathroom.

When she flicked on the light, the first thing she noticed was a flash of bright pink. A brand new bottle of Pepto Bismol sat on the counter by the sink. Underneath it was a piece of paper folded in half.

She slid the paper out from beneath the bottle and unfolded it.

_Jemma-_

_Hope you start to feel better. Everything went according to the plan. They’ll sign the morning we dock._

_-Fitz_

She read it over a few times, a small, fond smile playing at her lips. It faded as she thought about what kind of mixed signals he was sending with his concern, but she supposed business partners-- _temporary_ business partners-- could buy each other medicine without it having to mean something. She brushed her teeth and changed into pajamas slowly, not looking forward to crawling into bed with Fitz.

She liked him, she admitted to herself as she flossed her molars. He was clever, and resourceful, and a truly stunning kisser, with a secret considerate streak, and she really, really liked him.

But it was like he said. None of that mattered. It was always the plan to move on.

She tucked her floss back in her toiletry bag and flipped off the lights before opening the bathroom door. If she could help it, she didn’t want to be able to see him as she got in bed beside him, an ocean apart.

 

\--

 

She shouldn’t have been surprised when she woke up curled around him, face pressed against his chest and clutching at his t-shirt with one hand, but she still was. He had one arm pillowed under her head and the other hand resting on her forearm, the perfect picture of a happy pair of newlyweds who didn’t want to be apart from each other even in sleep.

They were in the middle of the massive bed, which meant they had _both_ migrated closer together at some point during the night. At least Jemma didn’t only have her traitorous subconscious to blame. _You’re supposed to be upset with him._

She carefully let go of his shirt, pulling her arm out from under his hand and scooting toward her side of the bed. He didn’t stir.

The clock read 7:14 a.m., so she knew he likely wouldn’t be up for awhile. She tiptoed out of bed and grabbed her workout clothes. A nice sweat might help her think-- or _not_ think, which seemed like the better idea.

It didn’t work, though. With every footfall on the treadmill, she alternated between regretting the feelings she’d let herself develop for Fitz, and fixating on the unease she felt anytime she thought of Tom, Dharma or the plan. _Left, right, left, right. Fitz, Tom, Fitz, Dharma, Fitz._ For one stretch of her run, she’d convinced herself there was no way she could go through with the plan. For the next stretch, she couldn’t stop thinking about all the money they both would have lost if they didn’t. By the end of five miles, she felt no clearer.

“Jemma, so good to see you!” Dharma’s voice startled her, and she nearly fell off the treadmill. Balancing herself with the safety rail, she paused the machine and removed her headphones. She put on a pleasant face before she turned around.

“Good morning, Dharma. How are you?”

Dharma looked at Jemma with concern in her eyes. “I’m fine, but how are you? You looked like you felt terrible last night. Fitz said it might have been something you ate.”

Jemma forced a laugh, climbing down from the treadmill. “I feel much better now, thank you. I’m not sure what it was. Perhaps seasickness finally got to me.”

“It’s our last full day on the ship! It would be a shame for you to spend it feeling ill. Though I suppose you get to spend as many days at sea as you want.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I feel terrific now,” Jemma lied, smiling wider. “I should head back and grab a shower, though.” She pulled her towel off the treadmill rail, dabbing at her face.

“Oh, don’t leave yet. I was just about to go for a steam. Why don’t you join me?”

Jemma wanted to say no, she couldn’t, she had to get back to Fitz. But the way things were going with him, the steamroom with Dharma seemed like the lesser of two evils. She nodded her agreement and followed the older woman toward the sauna.

The first few minutes were spent making small talk-- the temperature, the lushness of the towels (Jemma thought about claiming to have picked them out herself, to add another layer of detail to the con, but her heart wasn’t in it, so she just murmured that yes, they were particularly soft). The next few were spent in companionable silence. As companionable as silence can be, that is, when one party is preparing to screw the other over.

“You and Tom make such a lovely couple,” said Jemma when the silence began to feel too tense. Dharma beamed.

“That’s so kind of you to say.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Twenty-two years next month. This trip was an early anniversary present of sorts, for both of us. We just couldn’t wait a whole month to celebrate!”

Jemma smiled. She liked Dharma. In fact, if she didn’t feel so fond of so many people on this ship, she would probably feel a lot better at the moment.

“You and Fitz make a wonderful couple as well,” Dharma remarked. She leaned over, nudging Jemma slightly with her shoulder. “You remind me of us when we were a bit younger.” She shrugged with a laugh. “Quite a bit younger, of course.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Jemma couldn’t quite make her smile reach her eyes. She looked down at the tile floor, tracing the tiles with one big toe.

“Is everything okay, dear?”

Jemma met Dharma’s eyes and tried to say yes. She really tried. But no sound came out when she opened her mouth. Dharma’s gaze turned knowing, and she shifted to face Jemma more fully.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” said Jemma, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve just-- we just-- we’ve been fighting, a bit. Disagreeing, really.”

“What about?”

Jemma sighed. Was she really going to talk to her mark about her relationship-- or lack thereof? Still, who else could she talk to about it? Certainly not Fitz. “Our future, I suppose.”

“You’re not sold on the idea of trading in work for babies?”

“I don’t know…” Jemma’s eyes were on her towel-covered lap, and she picked at the fabric. “I didn’t expect to be, but… I think I am. Maybe not babies, not yet. But… stability. Just… being happy together.”

“So what’s got you two fighting?”

“Um. I guess… I guess it’s him who doesn’t fully support the idea. He thinks that after this week, we should just go back to the status quo. And… I thought that maybe we could start to build something, you know? Together.” The more she talked, the easier it got to open up. “I was really starting to feel like… I don’t know, like we had something special. And I suppose that’s not what he wants.” She sucked in a breath, looking at Dharma out of the corner of her eye. The woman was watching her with a look on her face that was half sympathy, half incredulity.

“You’re winding me up, aren’t you?”

Jemma stiffened. “What?”

“Jemma, I’ve only known you both for what, a week now? And even I can see how much Fitz loves you.”

Relief filled Jemma when she realized they were still talking about her relationship woes. She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t see the way that he looks at you, that’s why. He has this little look he gives you when you’re not watching. I’ve seen it at dinner a few times. It’s like… like he can’t believe you exist. It’s really adorable how lovesick he is.”

“Fitz, lovesick?” Jemma scoffed. “Now I know that’s not true.”

“You just don’t see it. He was so concerned about you last night. He practically fell all over himself trying to get out of there once he handed over the blueprints to us. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran the whole way back to your cabin to make sure you were taken care of.”

Jemma frowned. Maybe he had, but she hadn’t been there. “I don’t know. He… I care about him. A lot. But sometimes I think that he’s only with me out of convenience. Sometimes I think…” She cleared her throat, gripping the edge of the tile bench on either side of her legs. “It’s like we’re just business partners and that’s it. There’s nothing else there.”

Dharma covered one of Jemma’s hands with her own. “Honey. No one in the history of industry has ever looked at their business partner the way that Fitz looks at you. And vice versa.”

Finally, Jemma met the other woman’s eyes. She couldn't help but feel the knots in her stomach begin to untie at her words, and she struggled to remind herself that what Dharma had seen was Fitz and her putting on an act, nothing more.

Still, hope bubbled up in her chest as she watched Dharma’s face. “Really?”

Dharma squeezed her hand before pulling it back. “Really. You don’t get to be married as long as I have without recognizing real love when you see it.”

Jemma nodded, the barest hint of a smile forming on her face as a silence that actually did feel comfortable this time settled over the pair. For the first time all morning, she was sort of looking forward to seeing Fitz. And maybe paying closer attention to the way he saw her, too.

But when she got back to their stateroom, hoping they might be able to talk, he wasn’t there. Instead, his packed bags sat in a neat pile near the door. The only things of his remaining strewn around the room were his night clothes and his toiletry kit, left out for one last night and morning on the ship with her.

The next day they would part ways, and he was clearly more than ready to do so.

 

\---

 

Jemma was mad at him about something.

Fitz had no idea what or why, but even he couldn’t mistake the tight smiles, lack of eye contact, or silence between them. He had been on the verge of asking - multiple times - but in the end he couldn’t. He cared about her far too much to be able to bear hearing her tell him that she not only didn’t feel the same, but that she didn’t actually care about him at all.

He wanted to tell her how he felt anyway, though. With no expectation she would return the feelings, obviously, but he thought she deserved to have all the information. And it was always nice hearing that someone cared for you, right?

But he couldn’t. And because he couldn’t, it meant that he also would not tell her about the fact that he had changed his mind about this con. The whole reason he’d begun to second guess it was because he didn’t want to start a life with Jemma with the two of them constantly looking over their shoulders, terrified of getting caught. Besides, how could they begin a new life together when they had both thrown away all their savings on this blasted cruise? Jemma would be furious if he suggested it.

So, he kept his mouth shut and brooded. Fitz knew he wasn’t much of a brooder. But he rather felt that he had a good excuse this time.

He was in the process of drawing up the transfer documents. With every word he wrote, the guilty feeling in his gut tightened. Tom and Dharma didn’t deserve this.

Frustrated with himself, Fitz shoved the papers aside and stood. He was filled with a restless energy, and needed to do something with himself. He had packed earlier in an attempt to procrastinate drawing up the documents, then wandered aimlessly around the deck before returning to an empty room. Now, there was nothing left to distract him.

He should have just gone back to become an engineer like he’d wanted, he thought sullenly. Engineers never had this kind of drama or moral quandary in their lives.

Fitz had just decided to go in search of food - though for the first time in his life, he wasn’t actually all that hungry - when Jemma entered the cabin.

“Hi,” he said, the restless energy suddenly draining out of him with her presence.

“Hi,” she replied. They stood awkwardly across the room from each other, neither moving. At least she was looking at him now.

“Where did you disappear to?”

“I just went for a walk around the ship. I needed some thinking time, you know?”

“Of course. Are you...Did you need to think about anything in particular?” Traitorous hope bloomed in his chest, despite his attempts to crush it.

“Just needed to reconcile a few things. Think about where I’m going next. What I’m doing. You know how it is.”

“Right. Yeah. I do.” The hope plummeted to ground.

The silence stretched out.

“Are you hungry?” Jemma blurted, clearly to fill the silence.

Suddenly, he was. “Always,” he told her with something that passed for a roguish grin.

“I thought…” she began. “I thought it might be nice if we ordered in for our last night. Spent time away from everyone.” She looked down, not meeting his eyes. “Say goodbye.”

His chest felt tight at that word. “Sure,” was all he said.

Jemma called for room service, ordering enough to feed a family of six. Most of it was his favourites. He smiled at how well she knew him after such a short time.

Once the food came, they settled onto the bed with it spread across their laps and turned on the first movie that popped up on pay TV. It was a companionable quiet. Obviously whatever had been plaguing Jemma earlier had been resolved. Chances are, that meant it hadn’t been about him at all. Fitz didn’t know whether to be disappointed or pleased by that. At least they would end on good terms.

 _End_. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the word. But it wouldn’t be ignored. Melancholy settled over him.

He turned to her, his eyes roaming over her profile. “I’m going to miss this,” he blurted out before he thought better of it.

Jemma turned to him, her eyes shining sadly. “Me, too.”

“Jemma…” he began. He had to tell her how he felt. He had to try. “I-”

“Don’t say it!” she interrupted abruptly. “I can’t bear to hear you say it,” she said, softer.

Fitz felt a vice tighten on his chest and his throat closed. “Of course,” he managed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It will just make it harder if I hear it.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

They were almost entirely silent for the rest of the night. This time, it was more awkward than companionable. They tidied up the food that neither felt like eating anymore and set it outside the door to be collected.

Then, they got ready for bed and slipped in beside each other. Both lay on their backs and stared at the ceiling.

“Goodnight, Jemma,” he said, feeling more like he was saying goodbye.

“Goodnight, Fitz,” she replied, a sad hitch in her words.

 

\--

 

The final day of the cruise dawned to a somber mood. Jemma had barely slept the night before, her thoughts bouncing through her brain and keeping her awake into the early hours of the morning. She’d been utterly unable to hear Fitz say goodbye the night before, so had stopped him before he could get the words out. It had forced her to think about exactly why that might be the case.

Around 5 a.m., right before she finally drifted into a light sleep, Jemma had come to a conclusion that surprised her.

She couldn’t go through with it.

Even if Fitz didn’t feel the same way about her, she couldn’t feel right doing this to Tom and Dharma. They were good people who didn’t deserve this simply because they were rich. It was a startling thought.

She woke up late, feeling groggy and furry-mouthed. But she needed to tell Fitz immediately. When she sat up in bed and looked around the cabin, though, he was nowhere to be found. Jemma took the time to shower in an attempt to wake herself up. By the time she was done and ready, she looked at the clock and realised the time.

They were due to sign the papers on the deck in five minutes.

She raced upstairs, desperately hoping that she wasn’t too late. Surely Fitz wouldn’t do it without her, would he?

She burst out of the side door to find the three of them waiting for her. Her eyes locked on Fitz’s, and she barely acknowledged Tom and Dharma as she moved toward the group. Given that it was possibly her last chance, Jemma leaned up and placed a light kiss on Fitz’s lips.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured.

“It’s fine,” he replied under his breath. The soft look in his eyes gave her the courage to say what she needed to.

“Fitz, can I have a word?”

“Sure.” He shot a confused glance at Tom and Dharma.

“Sorry,” Jemma told them. “I just need to borrow him for a bit.”

The couple smiled at the two of them indulgently. “Take your time,” Dharma said, a knowing look in her eyes.

Jemma took Fitz by the hand and led him around the corner into a deserted corridor, away from any prying eyes.

“What is it, Jemma?”

Jemma took a deep breath, determined to get through this. “Last night, I was thinking…”

“Yes?” Was that hope she heard?

“I thought about Tom and Dharma, and our plans for them and…well…”

“You can’t go through with it?” Fitz asked very, very softly.

“Exactly. I’m so sorry. I know you are probably mad and I wouldn’t blame you if you continued the con and got them to sign and kept all the money for yourself but I just-”

Jemma’s rambling was silenced by the press of Fitz’s lips against hers. His hands cupped her face as he gently coaxed his lips over hers. Just as she was leaning into the kiss, Fitz pulled away, though he kept his hands gently cradling her face.

Jemma blinked.

“Does this mean you’re not mad?”

“Not even a little. In fact, I’m delighted. I’ve been thinking the same for a few days now, but I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“And...um…” She licked her lips nervously, and Fitz’s heated eyes followed the movement. “Why was it so important that you not disappoint me?” she asked in a small voice. Then, she straightened her spine, determined to take whatever answer came next.

Fitz’s smile was slow, almost lazy in his happiness. “Because I’m falling very deeply in love with you,” he told her, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Jemma felt her heart swell and she gasped. “Oh, thank goodness.”

Fitz laughed, then bit his lip. “Does that mean you feel the same?”

Jemma studied his face, noting the worry in his eyes. Did he honestly not know?

“Of course I do.” She tried to imbue the words with every ounce of sincerity she felt. His shoulders visibly relaxed.

They smiled goofily at each other for a moment, enjoying the pleasure of new feelings. After a moment, her worries resurfaced, encroaching on her newfound happiness.

“We blew all our money on this con.”

Fitz shrugged. “I find myself thinking it was a really good investment.”

Jemma smiled again, feeling warmed by his obvious meaning.

“So, what do we do about Tom and Dharma?” she asked.

Fitz shrugged. “We tell them the truth. Say we changed our minds.”

“As easy as that?”

“Sure. I mean, they don’t ever have to know that we tried to scam them, right?”

A smile curved the corners of her mouth. “I guess not.”

Fitz took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it gently. “Once we do this, we’ll figure out the future, yeah? I mean, if you still want to be with me after, we’ll have a lot to discuss.”

Jemma felt her affection for this man spilling out of her in waves. “As long as we are together, I think everything will turn out well.”

“Together,” he repeated, as if the word were something entirely new to him. And, perhaps, it was.

“Let’s go end this mess,” she said teasingly, tugging him out of the enclave and towards Tom and Dharma. Fitz followed her willingly.

 

\--

 

When they returned to the table at which Tom and Dharma sat, the older couple were holding hands, contented smiles on both their faces. Fitz gripped Jemma’s hand tighter, and he felt his heart swell a bit. Perhaps someday that could be them.

But first, they had a business matter to attend to.

“So sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, settling into a chair across from Tom. Jemma sat down beside him, letting go of his hand but placing hers gently on his knee beneath the table.

“Oh, that’s alright,” said Tom. “I’m sure you two have had lots to discuss. This is a big decision. Huge, even.”

Fitz grimaced, though he felt more certain than ever that not going through with the con was the right decision. He squeezed Jemma’s hand on his leg.

“Actually, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” she said, glancing at Fitz out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh?” Dharma placed her arms on the table in front of her, and Tom leaned forward in his chair.

“Right, we, um…” Fitz tugged at his earlobe with his free hand, a nervous habit. He wanted to back out of the con, but selfishly, he also wanted these people to like him. To like both of them. And he wasn’t quite sure how to go about that. “We’ve been talking, and…”

“You were right, Dharma,” Jemma cut in.

He swiveled his head to look at her, trying to hide his surprise. _Right about what?_

“Fitz and I spent a lot of time talking yesterday, about…” She turned her hand over where it rested on his leg, threading her fingers through his. “About us. And our future. And you were right. I had nothing to worry about.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Dharma had a warm smile on her face, and Fitz felt like he’d missed a step somewhere.

“But in talking about our future together, we realized… we’re just not ready to give this up.”

Ah. There it was. “Not quite yet,” Fitz chimed in, shaking his head. Tom and Dharma wore twin expressions of confusion.

“To give up the ship?” Tom asked, and was that hope Fitz detected in his tone?

“The ship, this life…” Jemma continued. “All of it. It’s ours. It’s something we’ve built together. And we need to focus on us right now.”

“So…” Dharma leaned back in her chair, looking thoughtful.

“So we’re very sorry to have gotten your hopes up,” Fitz said. “But we can’t sell you the ship. Not right now.” He glanced at Jemma. “Not when we have so much more to build together.”

She smiled at him, looking down to hide it before shifting her gaze to Tom and Dharma. “We’re truly very sorry. I know this must come as a shock, and that you’ve likely already begun planning.”

To Fitz’s surprise, Tom just leaned back in his chair and laughed, a big, hearty guffaw. He reached over and slid his arm around Dharma’s shoulders, pulling her closer. For her part, she looked as relieved as Fitz felt. She reached for Tom’s other hand, bringing it to her face to kiss it.

Fitz looked over at Jemma. Her brow was furrowed, a question in her eyes. “So… you don’t seem upset,” she ventured.

“Upset?” said Dharma. “No. Is it terrible that we’re incredibly relieved?”

“Relieved?”

“We have a bit of a history of biting off more than we can chew when it comes to investments,” said Tom. “The past couple of days, we’ve been beginning to think this might be another of those times.”

“Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say something?” _Could’ve saved us a lot of trouble_.

There was Dharma’s warm smile again. “I guess we just liked you two too much. We couldn’t do that to you, back out like that.”

“Yeah,” Tom added. “But now it looks like we all get what we want.”

Fitz forced a laugh. Odd how one could do the right thing and still feel guilty.

“Well, I think this calls for a toast!” Dharma clapped her hands together excitedly. She gestured for a passing waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. Once they all had a glass in hand, she raised hers. “To our futures!”

Fitz raised his glass, half-heartedly echoing Dharma’s toast, and saw Jemma do the same. By the looks of it, her feelings matched his own. They sipped their champagne in unison.

Later, as they walked out of the room together, Tom clapped Fitz on the shoulder and suggested they get together soon, let the women play a round of golf while they have drinks. Fitz was even tempted when Tom told him that he was always on the lookout for more investment opportunities, if anything else were to come up. Fitz smiled, agreed, and then gave him a fake phone number, dismissing the idea.

It was a downside to being a con artist. No one can maintain a false persona forever.

As Jemma slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, waving goodbye to Tom and Dharma and leaning her head on his shoulder, Fitz felt for the first time like he might not even want to.

“You know, that isn’t a bad idea,” she said to him as they watched the couple go.

“What’s that?”

“Tom being an investor.”

“I thought we agreed not to con them anymore?” Fitz asked, a confused frown pulling at his brow.

“What if we don’t? What if he invests in something legitimate?”

“We don’t _have_ anything legitimate.”

“That may not be true forever.” She stroked his arm persuasively. “Just keep it in mind.”

“Alright,” said Fitz, unable to deny her anything. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

She grinned happily at him and Fitz’s heart flipped over. Yeah, he was a goner.

 

\---

 

“I hope we didn’t forget anything in the room.” Jemma peered into her tote for the third time.

“You did double check,” Fitz noted. She rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I know, but it never hurts to check again.” He rubbed her back, partly to reassure her but partly to guide her forward to the ramp where the ship’s passengers were disembarking. He trusted that she’d been as thorough as possible.

He noted Jemma’s eyes land on something ahead of them, and his heart jumped a little with adrenaline and fear. They needed to make it off this ship.

Then he saw what it was that had caught her attention. An elderly woman, prim, proper, and clearly chafing at having to wait in line, was wearing an exquisite diamond necklace. Jemma seemed mesmerised, and the way the morning light played across the gems even held Fitz’s gaze.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he replied. His gaze fluttered to her, then back again.

“I hope one day I can buy you something just as nice. Make up for my wanker-ish behaviour when we met.”

Jemma laughed, a clear, pure sound. “You don’t need to do that. I was no better.”

Fitz shrugged. “I’d still like to.”

She looked up at him, her eyes luminous and her smile even brighter. “And I’d like that.”

He pressed his hand more firmly against her back to draw her closer, and she seemed to lean back into his touch. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. He was still reeling from how good it felt to be openly affectionate like this-- and to know that it was all real. Not for Gonzales’ benefit, or anyone else’s.

“Gonzales,” Jemma muttered under her breath. For a brief moment, Fitz wondered if she could read his thoughts. _That_ would certainly explain why she was so good at conning people. But then she nudged him, nodding ahead to the end of the ramp, and he saw the sour older man shaking hands with each passenger as they stepped off the ship.

“Won’t be sad to never see _him_ again,” Fitz whispered, leaning in closer to Jemma than was strictly necessary. He could tell his breath tickled her neck, and she shivered, giggling a little.

“You won’t miss using him as an excuse to make out in public?”

As they shuffled forward in the line of passengers, he pulled her hair to the side and gently kissed her neck, just below her ear. “Do we need an excuse anymore?”

She chuckled, tilting her head further to the side. “Common decency says we do.”

“Good thing I’ve never cared about common decency, then.” He kissed down the column of her throat, both of them slowly moving forward in line until finally, they were face to face with Gonzales once more.

The man sighed, tightening his jaw, a far cry from the warm goodbye the other passengers had received from him. “Mr. Fitz. Ms. Simmons. How sad to see you...and your public displays of affection...go.”

Fitz grinned at him, wrapping an arm tightly around Jemma’s shoulders. “Thank you for all your hospitality.”

“You’ve been a gem,” Jemma added.

Gonzales glanced at the line of passengers behind them, then leaned in close. “You two are lucky neither of you is leaving this ship in handcuffs,” he whispered, his voice menacing despite the fake smile he’d plastered on his face. He held out a hand to shake first Fitz’s, then Jemma’s, just like he’d done with every other passenger who had left the ship.

As Jemma shook his hand, she leaned in close, a smile on her face that Fitz had to admit was a little scary. “Frankly, sir, luck had _nothing_ to do with it,” she said, voice low so only Gonzales and Fitz could hear her.

Before Gonzales could respond, she turned to face Fitz, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “Let’s go.”

He nodded and followed her, sparing one last glance back to see that Gonzales was still watching them even as he shook another passenger’s hand. It felt good to leave him behind.

 

\--

 

Once they reached the dock, Fitz made for the building from which they’d pick up their checked luggage, but Jemma tugged him to the left, where the dock ran alongside the waterfront. He followed her wordlessly, their hands clasped together.

The silence stretched between them, somewhere between comfortable and tense. For the first time, they were together in the real world-- no one to convince, no one to con. Jemma was starting to feel nervous. Based on how tightly he was holding her hand, he was, too.

Fitz cleared his throat, tugging at his ear with his free hand. “So…”

Jemma looked up at him. “So, what?”

“So...what now?”

She licked her lips thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side to watch him. “I honestly have no idea.”

He nodded, looking equally at a loss.

“Me neither.”

“Given our sudden lack of savings, we don’t exactly have that many options.”

“True.” He frowned, eyes downcast as he scuffed the toe of his shoe on the wood of the dock.

“What about Tom and Dharma? And their offer to invest?”

“I’m not sure I’d feel right about conning them again. Even in with a legitimate business. That I need to remind you we don’t actually have. We’d just be back where we started, unable to sell the cruiseline.”

“It doesn’t have to be a business. You said yourself you liked to invent things. Maybe we could sell some of your designs?”

A thoughtful look crossed Fitz’s face. “That’s...actually a great idea.”

“It is? Oh good! Do you have an invention in mind?” Jemma felt her heart thudding in her chest as she awaited his response.

“Well, I do have an idea for one that could use a biochemist’s input…” he trailed off as Jemma felt her face lit up.

“Really?” she asked excitedly. Her mind suddenly cast out to a wealth of possibilities.

“Yeah. And your sales skills would be invaluable,” he told her. “It’s just...can we keep up the charade that long? Would we _want_ to?”

She smiled softly up at him. She’d grown to feel so much for this man in such a short time. She nudged him with her shoulder, then pulled him forward along the dock once more. “I don’t really know,” she told him. “But we’ll figure out our next move. Together.”

A slow smile grew on his face as he let her lead the way. He stroked his thumb over hers, and Jemma’s heart felt blissfully full. “Yeah,” he said. “Together.”

  


 


End file.
